by Angie Fox
“Black tea would be fine,” I said, as Ant Eater’s eyes began to cross.
“Sure,” Gina said, “Would that be Tibetan, Darjeeling, Assam—”
“You choose,” I said, and then added, “Assam,” when Gina seemed confused.
Across from me, Grandma kept eyeing the door and Frieda had gone a bit green.
“I’ll have what she’s having,” Ant Eater said.
I tried to smile, but found I felt as ridiculous as the biker witches looked. It was as if we were all trying to be something we weren’t.
Gina slipped a bag of Assam into Ant Eater’s cup and poured steaming water over it.
She should like strong tea. “It’s got a nice kick,” I assured the wary biker witch.
“Like Jack Daniels nice?” Ant Eater asked.
Not quite.
But at least they were trying. I appreciated that. Even if Frieda’s sleeve had already gotten into the clotted cream. She swirled her blueberry scone in the cream once more.
Somebody should tell her it wasn’t a dipping sauce.
Then again, at least Frieda had sleeves. Yes, Grandma had wrapped several stretchy bangles around the phoenix tattoo on her upper right arm, but they didn’t exactly hide anything.
My mother slipped into the chair next to me, teacup in hand.
“This is great, mom. Thanks.” It really was nice to have everyone together, safe and happy; to know that the room was still standing after five minutes...
Mom smiled, reaching for a scone until she saw what Frieda was doing to the clotted cream. Hillary cleared her throat and selected a finger sandwich instead.
Maybe this would work out after all.
“So, my daughter tells me that you like motorcycles,” Hillary said to Grandma.
Grandma nodded, actually taking care to finish chewing before she responded. “Yes. My,” she searched for a word, absently drawing circles in the air with her sandwich, “colleagues and I…of the motorcycle persuasion…have been riding together for several years.”
“Fascinating,” Hillary said, taking a dainty bite of her cucumber sandwich.
“What she means,” Frieda said, warming up as she took a stack of jam sandwiches cut into the shape of hearts. “Is that we had to run like shit from a goose from a fifth level demon before Lizzie here—”
“Frieda!” Grandma closed her hand over Frieda’s arm and the blonde witch scattered sandwiches across the table. “The Fifth Level Demons,” she said quickly, “are a—”
“Rock band,” Ant Eater interjected, pointing her sandwich at Hillary.
Mom had that plastered smile on her face again. Not good.
I took a sip of tea, letting it scald all the way down to my stomach. It didn’t help. I considered taking an English shortbread cookie, if only to have something to do. Creely solved that problem by walking past in her long skirt and knocking most of them onto the floor.
Two witches joined her in picking them up, eating as they went.
I willed Hillary not to look at them, and saw that she was too busy watching Frieda, Grandma and Ant Eater, as if she couldn’t figure out exactly why they were at her party—or in my life.
Relax. I could do this. It’s not like I’d expected them to become best friends. Still, with everyone trying, it would be nice if we could find some sort of common ground.
“I’ll see to some more refreshments,” Hillary said, standing too quickly. She practically sprinted from the room.
Once I was sure she was gone completely, I leaned forward and fought the urge to throttle Frieda. “What are you doing, telling her about demons?” I hissed.
She was wide-eyed. “It’s common knowledge!” She whispered, too loudly for my taste. “Besides,” she said, rubbing at her middle, smearing clotted cream as she did, “I can barely keep down my lunch. My girdle is about to cut me in half.”
Oh, come on. “Then take it off.”
“Here?” She brightened.
“No.” I snapped. “Grandma?” She’d side with me on this.
Grandma rolled her eyes. “She’s got you there, Frieda. This isn’t an underwear on the chandelier party.” I smirked, until Grandma gave me a stern look. “Still, it’s not Frieda’s fault you’re lying to Hillary.”
Okay, so maybe I wasn’t telling Hillary the whole truth, but, “What am I supposed to say to the woman? Hello, I’m sorry I haven’t seen you in close to a year, but you should know that I’m now a demon slayer, I ride with biker witches, the Earl of Hell has it out for me, and by the way—there’s a dragon outside your window.”
Frieda shrugged. “It’s a start.”
Grandma leaned close, elbows on her knees. “Try to be honest with her,” she said, glancing at a frowning Ant Eater, “she might surprise you.”
I doubted it.
“In the mean time,” Ant Eater said, stealing a finger swipe of the clotted cream from along the side of the bowl, “we’ll do our part and try to get along with spider monkey.”
Hells bells. “What are you talking about now?” They’d better not have brought any monkeys.
“That’s our nickname for your mom,” Ant Eater said, sliding the five remaining finger sandwiches off the platter and onto her lap. She resisted my death glare. “What? She said she’s bringing more.”
“Do not call my mom a spider monkey,” I said. “She’s a nice person.” She was. It was a matter of getting to know her.
“Twitchy,” Ant Eater said between bites.
“Skinny as all get out,” Frieda added, stealing a sandwich off Ant Eater’s lap.
As if she was one to talk.
Grandma nodded. “Screeches like a banshee when she gets mad.”
“What did you do to upset her?” It couldn’t have been worse than what I did.
Grandma shared a glance with Ant Eater. “There was a little trouble with our stuff when we got here. We sorted it out.”
“Hey, at least we’re all getting to know each other, right?” Creely said. I looked up to find the engineering witch, of all people, pouring more water into my cup. She gave everyone refills.
I tried to see past her full-on Laura Ingalls Wilder dress. “What happened to the caterer?”
Creely grinned. “Out in the garden having a giggle fit.”
I caught her by her frilly, laced wrist, feeling the biker bracelets underneath. “You said you’d behave.”
Creely shrugged. “Those kids needed a laugh. Besides, I can do her job even better.”
Grandma took a sip of her tea and grinned. “Yes, you can!”
I didn’t like it. “What did you do?” I reached for my cup and about choked on a sip of pure Jack Daniels. “You spiked the water?” I hissed as Hillary entered the room, tray in hand.
“It’s got a tea bag,” Frieda reasoned.
I reached for the pot and lifted the lid. It looked like water. It smelled like water. But a little green spell floated on top. I reached for it, the hot water stinging my fingers as the spell skirted away.
“Lizzie!” My mother scolded. She’d stopped and was holding the tray of sandwiches, watching me like I’d gone off my rocker.
It wasn’t hard to do around here.
“I was trying to get something out of the pot,” I said, as Frieda began to giggle. “Stop it.” I pointed to her. There was nothing funny about this.
Hillary placed a new plate of sandwiches as far away from Ant Eater as she could manage. Then I watched helplessly as mom refreshed her tea.
“You might not want to drink that,” I told her.
“Nonsense,” Hillary said. She raised the cup to her lips. “Where are my caterers?”
“On break,” Frieda said as Hillary took a sip of her tea.
Mom jerked back, and then took another sip. “Champagne?”
“Say what?” I asked, watching, waiting for the inevitable shriek.
“Gina must have added even more specialty blends than I thought,” Hillary said, voice warming. She broke into an incredulous
smile. “My tea tastes like Dom Perignon Rose.”
“Takes the edge off, right?” Creely said, slapping her on the back.
Frieda slammed a second cup. “Mine tastes like a Shamrock Shake, spiked with Baileys.” She leaned forward on her elbows, legs spread as wide as her tapered suit skirt would allow. “Now how come McDonalds only makes Shamrock Shakes in March?”
“You’re going to scald yourself,” I warned as my mom drank her whole cup.
“It’s actually the perfect temperature,” she said, holding her cup out for a refill.
Ant Eater chuckled and even my mom started giggling.
“How fast does this stuff work?” I asked Creely, as my mom started downing a second helping. “Hey. Whoa.” I tried to get a hand on mom’s cup.
“It’s just tea,” Hillary said, maneuvering out of my reach, gripping it like a three-year-old with a toy.
Evidently Creely’s spell worked very fast. Hillary was grinning like a mad woman. I’d never even seen my mom buzzed and now—
“Down the hatch,” Ant Eater declared as everyone did a shot of tea.
“Fix this,” I pleaded with Grandma, who at least had the decency to look guilty—as she poured another cup.
“At least everybody’s having fun now,” she said to me under her breath.
“Because you’re getting them drunk,” I said, as an impromptu game of Up and Down the River broke out at the next table.
Meanwhile, my mom had squeezed in next to Frieda on an already crowded couch. She had her legs crossed toward the witches and was leaning in like a co-conspirator. “So,” she said, gesturing with her teacup, “you like it here, right? I was worried you wouldn’t like it here. But I said, ‘I can do this.’ I said, ‘Hillary, you don’t need this whole shebang to be perfect. You only need it to look perfect.’”
Frieda nodded, her expression solemn. “I say the same thing when I make squirrel soup.”
“Want to play a fun game?” Ant Eater asked, leaning over Frieda. “Drink every time Lizzie gives us that bug-eyed look. See?”
They all three swiveled at me, and burst into giggles, raised their cups and drank.
“I’ve got a better one,” Frieda said, pouring more water into her cup. “You guys want to play I Never?”
Hillary leaned forward, fascinated. “What’s that?”
Oh, no. I put my teacup down. “We do not need to be teaching her any drinking games.”
Frieda wrapped an arm around my mom’s shoulders. “I Never is a fun way for everybody to get to know each other.”
My mom clasped her hands together. “I love games! What are the rules?”
She didn’t like games. She never played games.
“It’s easy,” Frieda drawled. “When it’s your turn, say something you’ve never done. Anyone who has done it has to take a sip of tea.”
“Stop,” I ordered them.
“Me first,” Hillary said. “I Never…” She rubbed her hands together. “…visited Oklahoma!”
She giggled as all the biker witches drank.
Oh, come on. “That was so not…” You know what? Good. I was glad Hillary didn’t know how to play. Maybe Frieda and company would get bored and stop.
Grandma piped in. “I never lied about my age.”
Hillary paused, confusion flickering across her features as Frieda drank heartily. The biker witch wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “Remember. You drink if you’ve done it,” she said, patting my mom on the leg. Hillary broke into a wide grin and drank.
“Let’s talk about something else,” I said. “Who wants to admit they’re a biker witch?”
“I never skinny dipped,” Ant Eater declared.
“We don’t need to know that,” I said, as everyone drank, except for my mom and me. Of course.
Frieda raised her cup, a mischievous grin tickling her lips. “I never had sex on the kitchen table.”
My mom clinked her teacup against Frieda’s and drank.
“Awww…” I used to have breakfast at that table. “M-o-m,” I protested in a voice I swear I hadn’t used since high school.
An hour with her and I’d already reverted back two decades.
Hillary wiped a dribble of tea off her bottom lip. “What honey? I’m a woman with needs. Thank goodness your father has never been shy—”
“Enough!” I’d pry the teacups from their hands if I had to.
Doggie claws scrambled across the hardwood. “Lizzie!”
Pirate, my Jack Russell Terrier, bolted into the sitting room like he was on fire. He was mostly white, with a dollop of brown on his back that wound up his neck and over one eye.
Ever since I became a demon slayer, I could talk to my dog. In real sentences. He thought it was the greatest thing on earth. For me, it depended on the day.
He skidded on the rug at the entrance and nearly thwacked into a plant stand before rushing headlong for me.
“Not now, Pirate” I said, as he leapt up into my arms. I awkwardly adjusted my cup on the table so it wouldn’t get hit with a flailing dog leg.
“Oh, hell yes, now.” Pirate squirmed, digging dirty paws against my dress. “I can’t believe you’re in here clinking tea cups when we got problems.”
Okay, well it was a good thing non-magical people, like Hillary, couldn’t understand him. I managed to get my cup on the table. Barely. I then held my dog up and away from my dress. His knobby little legs dangled uselessly. “What’s wrong?”
Pirate looked at my mom. “Let’s just keep her away from the windows.”
Yeah, well I had a feeling an entire marching band could parade by and my mom wouldn’t notice.
Still, when I glanced at the big picture window, I didn’t see anything. Not even a dragon.
Hillary wrinkled her nose. “I forgot what yappy dog you have.”
“Oh, geez. He interrupted your game? I’m sorry.” Not.
“What’s he got?” Grandma asked, with a notable slur to her voice. She could understand Pirate, too. Most magical people could.
“I’ll say it to you plain.” Pirate struggled to get down. “I understand you have sandwiches. I am a big believer in food. But you need to see the creepy looking crazy bomb I found in the garden.”
I stood. “I need to take Pirate out.” He had a nose for trouble. And the will to find it. I buried my nose against the wiry fur at his neck. “You’re going to show me and only me.”
It’s not like I could count on the biker witches’ discretion at the moment.
Or their sobriety.
But before I left, I asked, “Can I borrow a quarter?”
Creely found one in her pocket. She handed it to me and I slammed it on the table.
“It’s my wedding party,” I announced, “and I say no more I Never. You can play Quarters instead.”
“Strip quarters?” Frieda asked, hopefully.
“Regular quarters,” I told her.
“Who knew she’d be such a bridezilla?” Frieda muttered to my mom.
I tucked Pirate under my arm and headed out.
Chapter Five
On the way out, I grabbed my switch star belt off the hall table. I never should have walked in there without it. Damn fashion. It wasn’t just the weapons. The belt had pouches for various crystals, powders and any other concoctions the biker witches invented for me. Around here, it seemed I was going to need all the help I could get.
Pirate dashed ahead, his nails clicking against the slate tile. “It all started when I was digging in the rose garden.”
“Pirate,” I warned, slipping the belt around my waist.
That back garden was the only bright, non-Adams-Family spot in the house. I hoped.
I really didn’t want to have my wedding in the gothic sitting room.
He tilted his head. “Well, I wasn’t exactly digging. I simply happened to be there.”
The dog did not know how to lie.
His tail was up, his legs going a mile a minute. “But I have to warn you, there m
ay be a few holes. You gotta remember it’s my instinct. It’s not anything personal.”
“Stick to the facts,” I said, as he stopped at the back door.
He turned in a circle and sat. “Okay. I smelled something good. I followed it. Then I saw the creepy shit.”
Good enough for me.
I opened the heavy wood door and Pirate led the way out into the garden. The late summer sun felt good on my face and arms. It was a relief to be outside where I had a chance to breathe, to think.
My utility belt was chilly around my waist. It was always ten degrees cooler than everything around it, which was a blessing in this case because I was sweating like a fiend.
We passed a sculpture of a crying mermaid as I followed my dog down a gray stone path through a series of low flowerbeds. The garden was laid out in a series of triangular plantings with paths criss-crossing them every so often.
In fact, we had to switch paths several times as we zigzagged deeper and deeper into the foliage. The constant hum of insects grew louder as the garden grew taller. Flowering wolf eye trees, their leaves streaked with red, hung heavy over us. They blocked the direct sun, making my skin chill.
Thorny rose bushes climbed to the left and right, their branches twisted, their foliage overlapping. Somebody needed to take a pair of pruning sheers out here. I had no doubt my mother would take care of it. Once she sobered up.
It could still be pretty. Bright.
“What exactly did you see?” I asked, as thorns reached out for my dress and arms.
“I’m getting to that.” Pirate stopped. “Over there,” he said, tilting his knobby little head to the left. “That’s where I heard the noise.” He growled low in his throat. “Sounded exactly like something that needed to be chased.”
Definitely not a squirrel. Pirate was terrified of them. I eyed the thick tangle of foliage. There was no telling what could be in there.
He took off through the mass of rose bushes. “Well, I heard it, and you know we can’t let that go.”
“Not when you’re obsessed with the mail man, delivery trucks, the neighbors walking by…” I followed. Barely.
“Do you see any of that around here?” he called through the bushes.
No. This place was downright macabre. Weren’t gardens supposed to be open, cheerful places?
