A good zinger but totally nerdsville. Just like my young friend, Eldris. He’d probably been harboring that one for years waiting to bring it to life like his sixth grade science experiment.
“I go where my investigation takes me.” Stout folded his arms, but he’d start wilting already, his resolve had shriveled to a pea and he backed toward the exit, fingers fumbling over the surface of a smooth, antique desk in the corner. It’d been there since the times of Papa Delacroix.
“Investigation? You don’t have an investigation. You’re a bully, it’s as simple as that, and you’d better damn well leave Penelope and Amelia alone.” Eldris rammed his fists onto his hips, and Dr. Luke joined him in the pose.
These guys would protect Penelope come El Chupacabra or dying gardens.
Which way, Sage?
She’s heading for the woods. I think I’ll follow.
I glanced at Lola. Wait for us, we’re coming with you.
Chapter 14
Took you long enough.
Sage flew over us and down the garden path. I sprinted after him, Lola bounding along at my side, white fur fluffing in the wind created by our passing.
Which way?
My muscles were taut and I already had a stitch from the exercise. Too many hours licking my nether region and not enough time exploring the wilderness. What could I say? I was a creature of habit. And my habits happened to start with an ‘L’ and end with an ‘uxuries’.
She’s heading for Fawn’s shoulder, as far as I can tell.
It’s the clearing, she’s going for the clearing. Claws crossed Chokecherry isn’t there to intercept her.
I’m scared, Tali. Lola panted, jostling alongside me. What if Ami gets hurt?
Not on my watch, darling. Sage interrupted with a flap of his wings.
I hissed into the night to warn him off. But I didn’t answer Lola anyway. What if Ami did get hurt? She was the journalist; she liked to investigate and figure things out, but this was crazy.
Chokecherry was dangerous and Ami had to know that whoever was messing with Penelope was way too powerful for a mere mortal to deal with. We had to get to her before she got to that clearing.
I picked up the pace, forcing myself to run in spite of the pain in my side, paws pattering along the sidewalk, then the road and finally into the grass near Fawn’s spot. She was nowhere in sight, which wasn’t necessarily a good sign. I didn’t reach out to her; we didn’t need to involve anyone else in this goose chase.
She’s gone into the woods.
Sage fluttered into the trees and perched there, waiting for us to catch up.
We’d better stay low if we want to survive this. I thought I heard someone else moving in the woods.
My hair stood on end, and I didn’t have to look at Lola to know hers was sticking up straight punk-rocker style. Normally, I’d enjoy the change in style, but not tonight. This was deathly serious.
What do we do? Lola nudged me.
We go in there and try to save Amelia before it’s too late.
I padded forward at a slower pace, slinking rather than hurtling, brushing past spiky brittlebushes and the rough bark of trees. The night was clear and windless and there was a new moon. Too dark to see much in front of us if it weren’t for the night vision.
Voices travelled through the woods on air that was suddenly stagnant and tasted foul. I puckered my kitty lips and hacked a cough.
Quiet. They’re up ahead. Sage flitted from tree to tree above us, a shadow in the night, using the silent tactics of an owl hunting in the field. I’d have to cut back on those field mice jokes now that I’d seen what he was capable of.
“What do you think you’re doing?” That was Amelia, self-righteous and filled with passion.
I hurried forward with Lola hot on my heels, then hid behind a tree to study the situation. It didn’t look good.
The cloaked woman, all in red velvet, was on the floor in the center of the clearing with a bubbling cauldron over an open green flame. She twinkled her fingers over the concoction, ignoring Ami’s presence.
Maybe we could still get her out in time, then. All wasn’t lost yet.
“You answer me, Chokecherry,” Ami snapped.
Finally, the woman stopped her magical maneuvering and rose from the grass, her soft velvets whispering.
“Yes, that’s right. I know it’s one of you. I’ve been keeping tabs on this situation since the beginning, and I won’t let you continue torturing Penelope for no reason. You leave her the hell alone.” Amelia stuck her index finger out and waggled it at the cloaked figure.
Ami hadn’t witnessed El Chupacabra. She didn’t realize just how dangerous the witch in front of her was, and Pen’s waning magical powers and resistance to do anything truly terrible – always a good thing – had led her to believe that she wasn’t in any sort of trouble.
How wrong she was.
We should attack. I made to move forward, but Sage fluttered down and blocked my path, eyes wide. He turned his head and pointed one wing at a spot behind Amelia in the forest.
It’s too late for that now. Look.
I looked. Damien Chokecherry stood a short way behind Ami, hidden by the night, but visible as the pale glimmer of green against the trunks of the trees. The light flickered, casting an eerie glow on his grin.
We have to help her! Come on, let’s do this.
No. It’s too dangerous. We’ll all get killed and how could Pen survive losing all of us?
Sage got in front of me again.
I considered taking a swipe at him, but the look in his eyes stayed my hand.
Think, tuna for brains, if we go out there now, they’ll kill us and capture her. We’ll live to fight another day.
I don’t like this. That was from Lola, who rubbed against me, desperate for any kind of comfort.
My eyes were fixated on Ami, who had her hands on her hips and looked down her nose at the witch. “I’m not afraid of you. Now, I suggest you take your hood off and show me your identity. If you promise to stop messing with Penelope, then maybe I’ll consider not reporting you to the police.”
The witch giggled hysterically, a high-pitched squeal of delight in response to Ami’s threat. “The police?” She rasped, giggling harder still. “You think the police can stop me?” The witch raised a gloved hand, red velvet of course, and clicked her fingers.
Damien Chokecherry rushed out from under the trees and grasped Ami around the waist. He covered her mouth with a cotton cloth; she kicked back, fighting against his grip, but Damien wasn’t a small guy and Ami was a decidedly small girl.
Slowly but surely, her kicks and elbows waned and her movements stalled. Her head dropped forward and she passed out from whatever concoction Chokecherry had soaked the rag in.
“Good, at least that’s out of the way,” the witch said.
“What do we do with this one? They’ll send out a search party for her once they realize she’s gone.” Damien dumped Amelia over his shoulder like a sack of Mr. Oats’ manure.
“It’s too late for that now. Besides, the ritual will be completed within the next few days. By that time, Penelope Delacroix will be dead and I will have enough power to overthrow anyone who stands in my path.” The witch paused and sniffed the air. “Better hurry up about it. I believe we have an audience.” She turned her head and looked in our direction.
This time, my insides nearly jumped clean out of my body. I could feel her gaze sweeping the underbrush and the minute it landed on us, we’d be toast. Burned toast, Penelope’s infamous breakfast flop.
Run! I sent to both Lola and Sage. We scrammed out of there, darting between the trees on both the ground and in the sky with the witch’s cackling laughter in our ears. This was a nightmare.
Ami was gone and Shadowkeep would be in an uproar. Penelope would take this hard and stop at nothing to find her friend, which the Chokecherry’s probably expected. All of that added up to a shit storm in a litterbox, and we were in the vortex.
I asked Sage, as we ran, despairing for the first time in weeks.
I think I might have a plan. Sage was already at the lamppost, waiting when we burst from the forest.
Spill it, Big Bird.
I was in a bad mood. Things were about to get mighty uncomfortable for all of us and I needed to blame someone.
Remember Dagda Cerridwyn?
Uh huh?
I flicked my tail, glancing back in case that beast Damien decided to materialize and terrorize us too.
I found her.
Chapter 15
The underground tunnel that led to Dagda’s house was reminiscent of the forest that Hansel and Gretel had walked to get to that candy-festooned death trap at the end. In other words, it was a damn gauntlet of twining thorns and strange eyes watching from the dark.
I thought she lived in the desert. I picked over a puddle in the overgrown sewer pipe. No one said anything about shit puddles. I did not sign up for excrement.
Tell that to your litter box. The owl was in a bad mood because he couldn’t fly through the small space. Instead, he waddled along beside me, through the muck with his bright yellow eyes scanning the foliage.
The closer we got to the ‘candy house’ the more thorns and weeds popped through the cracks in the concrete walls. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that the flora was magical. Although, rocket scientists probably didn’t believe in magic.
How did you find her? I asked, quietly glad it was just us two in the tunnel. Lola had been terrified and exhausted after our encounter in the woods, so we’d taken her home first before we stopped at the sewer from hell.
I followed my beak. I noticed that someone’s been placing roses on Papa Delacroix’s grave, almost identical to the kind that Penelope grows. I thought it might’ve been a sign, a clue. So I staked it out.
You hung around in a graveyard at night? I sniffed. You’ve got bigger avian balls than I give you credit for.
Not all of us are superstitious. Otherwise how would I be friends with you, a black cat?
Sage waddled along, dignified in his disgrace trudge through the muck.
Friends? Aw, I’m touched. You might be hardened owl feathers and poop on the outside, but inside you’re a big, squishy…
Save it. We’re getting close.
Sage lowered his hoots a few decibels, and glanced at the pairs of eyes which had been following us since we entered the tunnel. Probably rats, God, please let them be rats and nothing worse.
I conjured up the image of mini-Damien Chokecherry’s dashing through the poo to get to us and had to shake the thought free from my mind.
So, you saw her?
Yes, I saw her. An old wisp of a woman, ancient but steeped in power. She puts the roses down and comes back here.
You’ve been through the tunnel?
Cynicism creeping into my tone. It was doubtful that Sage would debase himself to this kind of extracurricular activity more than once.
No, but there’s no doubt it leads to Dagda Cerridwyn.
The watching eyes flickered and disappeared at the mention of her name.
That’s not creepy at all. I looked around the dark forest again.
We reached the end of the tunnel and met with a circular wooden door. I bumped it with my head and it creaked open to display the room beyond.
A fire crackled against one wall, bright violet flames licked at the grate and on the opposite end sat a worn table stacked with a pestle and mortar and various potions and pills. A rocking chair and table stood off to one side, and there was another door, bigger and ornate, carved with curling decorations in the far corner.
The interior looked like ye old alchemist’s hot spot.
“Who dares enter my abode?” A woman’s voice wailed over the table, lifting papers and flicking pages on massive tomes, then rattling out of the hole a few feet above where we stood.
Uh, with all due respect, we haven’t entered your abode yet. I quipped unable to resist. It wasn’t like she’d be able to understand me anyway. She was a witch, not a magician. Oh wait… that didn’t make sense.
“Ah, a smart aleck feline, eh?” The woman said. “You’d better hurry up and get inside my abode so I can repeat myself.”
Sage and I shared wide-eyed looks. This witch had to be powerful, indeed, if she could understand us.
“Well?” The witch asked, still invisible to our eyes. “Are you going to come inside or stand there staring at each other all night. Don’t tell me you walked through a dirty sewer pipe infested with Worgsnarts just to look at my living room. Although, it is divine. Kind of like the lady who inhabits it.”
We stepped over the threshold as one, shuffling forward and searching the corners of the room for our mystery host. The door slammed shut behind us with an ominous clang.
“Who dares enter my abode?” The witch repeated, true to her word.
I’m Talisman, and the bag of feathers and sarcasm is Sage. I padded forward. We’re looking for Dagda Cerridwyn. We’ve been told she can help us.
“Who told you that?” the voice asked.
Uh, he told me. I said, jerking my head toward Sage.
“And who told him?”
Look we could go on like this all night. My mistress, Penelope Delacroix, she’s in trouble. The Chokecherry’s are out to get her and if I don’t figure…”
Dagda Cerridywn appeared with a whistling pop. She was frail as a wispy broom, with three bald patches and a wart on her chin, but other than that she looked like any old woman. Rheumy eyes, a bad back, even a wooden cane to match her persona. The only thing missing was a broom, a cauldron and a black…
Cat.
Seriously, if you have to look up the definition of witch in the dictionary, this would be the picture you found: Dagda Cerridywn, Class of 1708.
“The Chokecherry’s, you say?”
That’s correct.
“Lucinda Chokecherry was such a teacher’s pet. Bloody hedge witch. If I ever get my gnarled fingers on her, I’ll…” She cut off and met my gaze, then studied Sage in turn. “No matter. I’m glad you came to me. I owe a great debt to the Delacroix family. I’m here today thanks to Penelope’s grandfather.”
Then you’ll help us?
Sage hooted, fluttering his feathers and working his feet to get off the excrement he’d picked up in the tunnel.
“Yes. Yes, I think I will. But it depends on what you need. If you’ve come asking for my invisibility spell, you’re out of luck. I don’t share that with anybody.”
Shit. I said, then jammed my jaws shut. Sorry, I mean, dangflabbit. Didn’t want to offend the old bird’s fragile sensibilities.
Then how can you help us? Sage asked the woman.
Dagda Cerridwyn paced back and forth in front of her violet fire, tapping her chin with a thumb which looked kind of like a stunted carrot. “Hmm… I have no idea.”
Fantastic. I’m so super glad we walked through that tunnel of poop and eyes to get here. Sage rapped me on the head with his beak.
“Calm down, my furry little friend. I don’t know how to help you yet. But I know somebody who will know exactly what to do.”
Good, because we’re on a tight schedule. Chokecherry mentioned killing Penelope in the next few days, you know how it is with these evil witches and warlocks.
I kept my tone casual, but I was a whorl of terror inside being sucked through my own stomach by the fear of losing my dearest mistress. I’d do anything to save her.
“Yes, I’ll get him right now.” The witch turned and shuffled to her table, cane clunked on the floor and stopped to grab a handful of powder from a glass jar. Then she shuffled to the violet flames, pausing to scratch her butt, and chucked it in.
The flames flashed bright red and a figure rose within them and stepped out. A figure I’d never thought I’d see again in all my lives.
Papa Delacroix straightened, stretching his ancient arms and scratching at the handsome beard
he’d worn until the day he died.
“Yes, Dagda, what is it this time?”
***
LOLA
Fur Magic – Book 4
By
Colleen Charles
Chapter 1
Papa DeLacroix, Pen’s beloved grandfather, was translucent as he emerged from the purple flames, but that razor sharp gaze hadn’t altered a whit since the day he’d died, so many years ago. Funny, I’d thought death tended to dull the intelligence, deaden the brain and all that jazz.
Do you have to be snarky about everything, Tali? Sage nudged me with the tip of his wing. Talk about razor sharp.
Look who’s talking. Then again, you’re more larky than snarky. Now shut up, I’m trying to concentrate here.
Sage huffed a breath through his beak and clicked it a couple times. Damn owl always had to have the last word, even if those words weren’t articulated with vocal chords.
The witch, Dagda Cerridwyn, grasped her cane tightly in one hand and ground the sharp end – sharp enough to skewer a mouse – into the wooden baseboards. The thought made me drool. Yummy.
“I only ever summon you for a good reason, DeLacroix.”
“That’s what you said about the chicken!” Papa snapped, stroking his beard.
“I couldn’t get the stuffing right,” Dagda mumbled, giving the two animals the side-eye.
Cooking a bird? Really? Sage ruffled his feathers.
Sounds delicious. I shot back, accompanying it with a lick of my furry lips. Sage nudged me for the second time in two minutes.
Papa DeLacroix narrowed his eyes and followed Dagda’s gaze. His eyebrows wriggled and jumped up his forehead at the sight of us sitting there. “Talisman? Is that you?”
One and the same, I replied, because the old guy had always been able to talk to me. One of Papa’s many gifts and yet another reason the other witches had truly resented him. Animal telepathy was still an animal thing, though. Man, if he’d heard half the bitter catnip-induced thoughts I’d had about him…
Fur Magic Boxed Set: Talisman, Sage, Fawn, Lola: Paranormal Romantic Comedy Page 19
