A Tale Of Two Witches

by Robyn Peterman

  and eat her face off. But that didn’t happen. When she was done, the witch stowed the collected claw clippings in her skirt pocket and waved the gator away. Buffy slipped back into the bayou and floated for a minute, then disappeared into the murky water.

  The swamp witch waved on her way back into the shop. “Say hello to Sterling for me.” “Sterling?” I asked Julius.

  He shrugged and held his hands up as if to say “no idea what she’s talking about.” When he finished off his cola, he stood. “Ready?”

  I nodded, grabbed our bag of tricks, and followed him back to the Harley. After securing the loot in one of the saddlebags, I climbed on behind Julius and hung on.

  Julius roared out of the parking lot. Half a block down the highway, he stopped at a deserted red light. He tapped his fingers impatiently on my thigh, waiting for the light to change. Only it didn’t, and just when he revved the engine as if he was done waiting, the roar of another motorcycle came up from behind us.

  A rider on an electric-green, custom chopper stopped beside us. He wore a skullcap helmet and full leathers with a double-headed snake on the back of his jacket.

  Suddenly the noise of the motorcycles faded away, and the rider turned to me. He looked vaguely familiar, a snake tattoo crawling up his neck, but I couldn’t place him.

  “Hello, Pyper,” he said, his voice gravelly.

  Julius stared straight ahead as if he hadn’t noticed the rider, and I instinctively knew I was dealing with a ghost rider. Though I had no idea how he knew my name or why the motorcycle noise had faded.

  “How did you do that?” I asked, waving a hand around us, indicating the silence. “A gift from the swamp witch.” “Sterling,” I said, understanding the witch’s parting words. His lips curved into a faint smile, then vanished as his expression durned deadly serious.

  “Your help is needed.” I stifled a sigh. Of course it was. It wasn’t every day ghosts came upon a medium they

  could talk to. “What can I do for you?”

  “Not for me,” he said, his voice grave. “It’s Mia. She’s alive.”

  “Mia?” I asked, but as soon as I said the name, a young woman’s smiling face flashed in my mind. The teen’s picture had been plastered all over the news during a statewide manhunt when she went missing five years ago. She’d never been found and was presumed dead.

  But thirty days after Mia Trebelle had gone missing from her New Orleans home, the state police had raided a shack out in the bayou that resulted in taking out her assumed abductor—Sterling Charles.

  Chapter Two

  I stared at the ghost, my mouth hanging open. Holy hell. My heart started to pound against my rib cage. Could it be true? Mia Trebelle was alive? “Where is she?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. I was tracking her abductor when the police cut my investigation short.”

  “But—”

  “Twenty-three Motte Lane. Find—” His existence flickered in and out and back again, his mouth moving the entire time as if he didn’t know it was happening, “—key—” Another fade out and back in. “—for answers.”

  “What?” I asked, biting my lip, but this time he disappeared with a pop and I knew he was gone. “Damn. Turn around!” I yelled and tapped on Julius’s shoulder to get his attention.

  Still sitting at the red light, he glanced back at me. “What?” “Go back.” I waved behind us. “I have to talk to the swamp witch.” He nodded once, and when the light finally changed, he turned around and whipped back

  into the parking lot. Once the roar of the motor died off, he asked, “Did you forget something?” Shaking my head, I slipped off the bike. “Did you not see the ghost rider?” He raised both eyebrows in surprise. “You saw a ghost back there?” I nodded. “He wants me to investigate a missing girl. He gave me an address and told me

  to find a key.” After filling him in on Mia and what I could remember about Sterling’s death, I added, “He knew who I was and mentioned something about the swamp witch. I think she sent him to me, and I want to know what else she might know.”

  “And why she isn’t helping find Mia?” he said, getting straight to the point.

  “Right.” “Let’s find out.” He slid off the bike and fell into step beside me. It was then I took another good look at the Swamp Witch shop. What the...? I blinked,

  stunned by what I saw. The paint was no longer peeling, and the sign looked brand-new with a cute witch cartoon in the corner. “Holy cow. What happened to the weathered swamp shack? Did she just spell the place?”

  He squinted, studying the building. “Looks like it. Though I think I liked it the other way. Much more authentic.”

  I had to agree. We made our way back into the shop, but as soon as I stepped through the door, I stopped in my tracks. Instead of the dusty, overcrowded shelves, the place was spotless, with neat rows of cutesy witch dolls, prepackaged tarot cards, carved candles, and neatly packaged herbs. Everything looked like it had been ordered out of a specialty catalog and was in no way authentic to the bayou.

  “Hello?” I called out.

  A short, perky blonde bounced out of one of the aisles, a small stack of books in her hands. “Hello! Welcome to the Swamp Witch. Looking for something special?”

  Julius and I shared a confused look. I cleared my throat. “Um, hi. We were here just a few minutes ago and Avrilla helped us. Is she here?”

  “Avrilla?” Her smile faltered. “Sorry. I think there’s been some confusion. I’m the only one who works here. Are you sure it was my shop?”

  “Pretty sure,” I muttered to myself and moved to the back of the store to peer out the window. The sun shone off the murky water, and as I stood there, a familiar gator crawled back

  up onto the dock. There was no doubt we were in the same place, only the store and the owner had changed. None of it made sense.

  “Pyper?” Julius called.

  I walked back over to him and the blond witch. She was perched on a stool behind the counter, watching me intently. I slipped my hand into Julius’s just to ground myself in something real, because the shop and the blonde were officially freaking me out. “Sorry. Our mistake,” I said and started to pull Julius toward the front door.

  But as we moved away from the counter, I spotted a small container marked Alligator Claws. I paused, studying the gray plastic replicas.

  “What is it?” Julius asked me.

  “I don’t—” My vision blurred. Then the dusty, dirty shop came back into focus and the claws turned into the real thing.

  Those are good for protection, a voice whispered from behind me.

  I spun, and the commercialized store full of slick packaged items shifted back into place.

  Crap!

  I sighed, scooped up a handful of the plastic alligator claws, and dumped them on the counter. “I’ll take these.”

  She took forever packaging them in cellophane, and by the time she finally ran my credit card, I was itching to get out of there. I felt like I was in the Disney version of a witch shop.

  Once we were back outside, I blew out a breath. “That was...” “Weird,” Julius finished for me. I stood at the motorcycle, staring back at the cheery building.

  “Are you looking for anything in particular?” Bayou Barbie asked me.

  “It’s not a spell,” Julius said, standing just behind me. “I would’ve been able to feel it.” I turned my attention him. “No. Not a spell. At least not a normal one.” “What does that mean?” he asked, eyeing me in confusion. I had been told I had a small

  amount of power recently, like a teeny tiny amount, but nothing that would result in my sensing a spell.

  I took a deep breath. “I think Avrilla is a ghost.”

  * * *

  Windblown and more than a little unsettled, I strode into the Mayhem Bed and Breakfast, Julius behind me. The sound of my riding boots echoed over the glossy wooden floors as I made my way across the foyer to the grand staircase. I had my foot on the first step whe
n a crash came from the formal living room.

  “Hey are you—” Julius stopped mid-sentence, his eyes wide.

  “What’s going on?” I slipped around him, then clasped my hand over my mouth to stop the uncontrollable giggling. Moxie Mayfair, the inn owner, was bent over, frantically tossing a collection of brightly colored dildos, fur-lined handcuffs, and various tubes of lubricants into a plastic storage bin. And if that wasn’t enough to kill anyone with embarrassment, the air- conditioning suddenly kicked on and the air from the nearby vent blew her short skirt up, flashing her ass cheeks, complete with a tattoo that said: Bite me!

  “Oh my,” I said before I could stop myself.

  She stood up so fast she dropped her bin, and her collection of sex toys spilled out onto the fancy area rug.

  “Your Jack Rabbit rolled under the chair,” Julius said, his tone matter-of-fact. I snorted and turned to him. “How do you know about those?”

  He shrugged. “There are a lot of adult stores on Bourbon Street. I had a lot of time on my hands as a ghost.”

  Moxie’s round face turned scarlet as she scrambled to collect her unmentionables. “Sorry. It’s date night and I was... uh, you know... getting ready.” She picked up a package of what I swear said Edible Intimates and shoved it behind her back.

  “Maybe we should give her some privacy.” Julius slipped his hand into mine and started pulling me from the room.

  “Wait!” Moxie threw her fruity panties in the box and ran over to me. “Didn’t you say you’re a body painter?”

  “Yeah.” In addition to owning a café, I was also a body painter and sold photographs of my work at a local art shop.

  She let out a relived sigh. “Great. Tonight is zombie night, and I’m going to need a little help with my costume.”

  “Um, I’m not exactly a makeup artist,” I said, already backing away.

  “Oh, I know. I want to do something special for Hale. And I think if I was painted to look like a zombie, he’d really go for that. You know, spice things up. His favorite show is The Walking Dead. A while ago, I ordered a starter kit for body painting, but I really have no artistic ability. And I thought...”

  “You want me to paint you to look like a zombie so you can seduce your boyfriend?” I asked, my eyebrows raised.

  She bit her lip and nodded, uncertainty flashing in her eyes. “That’s crossing a line, right? I shouldn’t have asked.” Moxie started to back away, shaking her head. “Forget I said anything.”

  “Hell no, I won’t forget,” I said, laughing. “I think that’s awesome. Of course I’ll do it.”

  “You will?” Julius and Moxie asked at the same time.

  “You bet your butt I will.” I grinned at her. “Anything to keep the excitement alive in the bedroom... or living room,” I added, nodding to the adult toy box.

  She grinned, her face flushing again. “Thank you so much. I just know he’s going to love this.”

  “Give me about twenty minutes to drop this stuff off and get changed.”

  Julius followed me up the grand staircase and unlocked the door to our room for me. “What about Mia?” he asked.

  I set the bag from the Swamp Witch on the floor and immediately made a beeline to the chest of drawers. “I plan to pump her for information while I get her zombified.”

  “Walking Dead date night,” Julius said, shaking his head. “That’s a little...” “Creepy?” I supplied. “Disturbed.” His gaze swept over my body as I discarded my leather halter top. My lips curved into a smile, and I walked over to him wearing only my black lace bra

  and low-slung jeans. Placing my hand on his chest, I fisted his T-shirt and tugged him down so our lips were inches apart. “You don’t want to role-play later?”

  “Not if it involves you dressing up like a dead person.” I gave him a look of mock disappointment. “But I wanted you when you were dead.” His blue eyes flashed with a hint of mischief. “Correction. I’d prefer if our role-playing

  didn’t resemble rotting dead people. But if you want to play the hot medium from Bourbon Street while I spell you with my magic...” He glanced down at himself and then ran a finger over the swell of my breast. “I think we can work something out.”

  I sucked in a small breath, ready to ditch Moxie and turn all my attention to Julius. He really did have a magic... ah... package. Only there was a woman being held against her will. And since Moxie had been born and raised in this town, she was sure to have details that would give me a good starting point. I took a step back before I let myself get lost in him. “Meet me for dinner in a couple of hours?”

  He dropped my hand and nodded, not bothering to hide the mild disappointment in his eyes. “Bettie’s Beignets, say six?”

  The modest café was a half block down from the B and B. They served everything from deep-fried catfish to rum-soaked bread pudding. I’d do just about anything for more of that bread pudding. “Yep, I’ll be there.”

  “Good. In the meantime, I’ll do a little research of my own.” He pulled out his phone and started scrolling through his contacts.

  “You’re calling the council?” I asked, eyeing him. Julius had been a ghost for almost a century. His circle of contacts wasn’t huge. Me, Jade, Kane, Bea, the New Orleans Coven, and the Witches’ Council.

  “After meeting Avrilla, I think it’s wise.”

  “Good point.” If we were dealing with any magical beings, it was best to be prepared. And after running into a ghost witch, anything was possible.

  “I’m going to grab a coffee and enjoy some of this sunshine. See you later.” Julius pressed a kiss to my temple and then strode out the door.

  I sighed, realizing I’d just sent him away while I was half-naked. So much for a romantic weekend getaway. We had a kidnapping to solve.

  Donna McDonald

  Matchmaker Abduction

  Chapter One

  Universe 6, May 15,1958, on a hill outside Lisdoonvarna, Ireland…

  Angus MacNamara pulled the pistol from the holster on his kilt belt. He checked the chamber, made sure his shot was loaded, then looked down at the grave and glared. Love and hate had always been intertwined in his life. The harpy he had married over forty years ago had been his greatest pleasure and his darkest curse.

  Love weakened a man’s resolve. There was no doubting that for him.

  “Alright, woman. It’s been nine fecking years, but I finally kept my entire promise to yer dying soul. Yer children are married well, even the stubborn ones. Ya have two grandchildren remembering yer name already, five still on the tit, and a few more on the fecking way because our sons and daughter are as lusty as we were in creating them.”

  Angus huffed. “What’s that ya say? I hear ya fussing, even from six feet under. Why did it take so long, Angus? What have ya been doing all this time? This isn’t the 1800s, you crazed old crone. I couldn’t make them hardheads you bore do what they didn’t want to. In fact, I had to fecking bribe most of their intendeds to take them on. Without yer guidance, the last four never got their edges rounded off as well as the first three.”

  Angus stomped his polished black brogue on the ground. The tassels of his father’s clan flapped from the top of his pristine white stockings. His kilt lifted, bringing a welcome breeze under it. Wool in the early summer was never a good idea for a man his size. But he’d wanted to look good today. Being as much Scottish as Irish, he’d wanted closure to come in style, which meant while he was wearing his plaid.

  “Pay attention to me, woman. Stop rolling over down there and laughing at my misery. Do ya think it's been easy for me all these years without ya? Well, it wasn’t, ya cruel creature. I told ya not to die, but no… ya never did listen to me.”

  “I knew ya lost yer flipping mind years ago,” a voice called. “Did ya call me out here to watch ya lose the rest of yer shit, Angus? I’d just as soon not be a part of yer descent into madness if I get a say in things. Plus, I have to tell ya true… the woman yar talking to will come back and haun
t ya good if ya keep stomping on her grave like that.”

  Angus jumped back from the grave and raised the pistol from his side to point it at the mounded dirt on the ground. Most of him was sure it wasn’t his Mary speaking to him from beyond the veil. He wasn’t that many sheets in the wind… or at least he hoped he wasn’t.

  Suddenly a green-eyed glaring angel with shiny, golden brown hair and enormous breasts appeared. Instead of a robe of white, she was wearing some unfortunate man’s stolen pants as she stepped up to face him down. Had he shot himself already and forgotten about it in his dying state? That would just be his fecking luck.

  The angel glared at him over Mary’s grave, but held up her hands at the pistol he finally raised and pointed at her. She wisely backed up a few steps which clued him in about what he was doing. One set of the angel’s fingers gripped a note which she shook at him furiously. If it was a page from the great Book Of Life about him, his angel was sure fecking mad about what was written on it.

  Lowering the pistol, Angus wavered on unsteady legs, wishing now he hadn’t downed so many pints of Guinness. He’d thought it’d be easier to shoot himself if he was drunk. It never occurred to him that both heaven and hell would gang up against him and send a foul-mouthed angel his way as a final torment. He’d honestly thought ya got to settle yer accounts with St. Peter after ya passed on, but not before ya ended things.

  He looked down at the grave again. “Ya could have fecking warned me about the avenging angel coming for me, Mary. What good is it being dead if ya can’t help those ya left behind? She looks mad as the devil ever could look, and now I have to deal with her all by my fecking self. I’ll not be forgetting this betrayal, ya laughing harpy.”

  Erin swore under her breath at the way Angus was dressed. Though a tall woman who dwarfed most men in height, she’d always felt dwarfed herself by the nearly two meters tall Angus MacNamara. That was especially true when he was looking every bit of his Scots-Irish self dressed in his best Prince Charlie outfit. It was criminal the way the man’s long, sculpted legs were just meant for his stupid, fecking kilt.