Magically Delicious

by Robyn Peterman

  “Nope.” Cookie Witch sighed and rested her gnarled hands on the counter. “Some things are not always as they seem. Take the nuclear bomb for example.”

  I nodded even though I was in utter confusion. What did the nuclear bomb have to do with being a witch? I casually took a seat on the far side of the charming kitchen table with adorable woven place mats. It was the seat closest to the door just in case I had to make a run for it.

  “Not really following,” I said, pretty sure she had plans to cook me up and turn me into a door. She was nuts.

  “Nuclear energy was made with the noblest of intentions and then BOOM!” she shouted as I scrambled for the exit.

  “Maybe I should come back another time,” I offered. “You seem to be a little, um… distracted right now.”

  “Not distracted at all,” she replied as she waved her hands and produced her candy walking-cane. “Did you understand what I said?”

  “Um… was I supposed to?”

  She sighed and ushered me back to the table. I sat on the edge of my chair on the very likely possibility she lost her marbles again and I had to sprint the hell out.

  “My point is that magic is like nuclear energy. The Goddess gave us this gift to heal and take care of our earth, but many have misused it—like nuclear energy. The intention was good but the reality was truly horrifying.”

  “Not everyone misuses magic,” I countered.

  “You did,” she replied.

  She had me there, but… “Yes, I did. However, I never harmed anyone. I was selfish and stupid but I’ve changed—mostly. Maybe I’m still a little selfish and stupid, but I really do mean well.”

  She nodded and offered me a bowl of chocolate covered peanuts. It wasn’t on my new diet, but I wanted to be polite so I ate some—and then some more—and then some more.

  “You’re transgressions are not actually what I’m referring to even though I do sense some darkness in you. The only one you ever really harmed was yourself,” she said, examining the empty bowl with amusement. “I’m speaking of those that use magic expressly for evil. They can’t be controlled.”

  “I disagree,” I said, kind of insulted but more surprised that she knew I possessed dark magic as well as light. In removing my mother’s magic, I’d taken it into myself. Not my choice. I did what I had to do, but of course now I was stuck with some yicky power as well as the good I was born with and what my Aunt Hildy had given me. Basically, I was a freak of voodoo nature.

  She stood up and limped over to the sink with the empty bowl. “That’s your prerogative, girlie,” she replied with a shrug.

  “My name is Zelda,” I reminded her.

  “Yep,” she agreed.

  This was going swimmingly.

  “Can I guess your name?” I asked casually, wanting to change the subject to something that was more important than comparing magic to a bomb that killed people.

  “Good luck with that,” she challenged, putting two big bags of white powdery stuff and a bottle of brown liquid on the table.

  “What the hell is that?” I asked, eyeing the bags warily.

  She blew out a long slow breath that smelled like brownies and rolled her eyes. “You weren’t lying when you said you couldn’t cook, were you?”

  “Nope,” I confirmed with pride, delighted not to lie. “I burn water. For real.”

  With a put upon sigh, she held up a stick of yellow stuff. I totally knew what it was.

  “Butter,” I shouted, relieved I knew something.

  The Cookie Witch jumped about a foot off the ground inadvertently blowing up an ottoman and then placed her hand over her rapidly beating heart.

  “Sorry,” I muttered, helping her to a chair. “That’s butter. I’d be happy to eat that if we don’t need it to bake.”

  “You’d eat a stick of butter?” she asked, making a horrified face. “What is wrong with you, girl?”

  “Um… nothing?”

  We sat in silence and stared at each other. Her eyes, under bushy and constantly arched brows, were a lovely shade of light purple. My guess was that she’d been a beauty in her day—whenever the hell that had been. I was beginning to think this was a waste of my time considering what was going on in Assjacket. However, I had to pay the piper—or the witch—for eating her place of residence.

  “Can we get the show on the road?” I asked, trying to be tactful.

  “Do you know what that is?” she asked pointing to the bags of powder on the table.

  “Baking stuff?”

  “Lost cause,” she muttered and began slamming the baking stuff back into the cabinets.

  Crappitycrap.

  “Look Cookie Witch, I’m sorry,” I said, backing up to the door. “I don’t know how to make food unless it comes in a microwave container. I never had a mother who baked or even cooked that much. Before I spent an inordinate time in the pokey for conjuring up Jimmy Choo’s and expensive vacations, I used to eat out a lot or just wiggle my fingers and magic up a cheeseburger and French fries. I’m good at a lot of shit, but cooking is not one of them.”

  “You done?”

  “Nope. I’m on a roll. Now I’m only allowed to use my magic for the good of others because Baba Yostankyass put me on probation after my release from the Big House. I secretly like the stipulation, but it’s screwed with my street cred as an uncaring loner. However, I know I never used my magic like a nuclear bomb,” I told her, hoping to avoid her blowing anything else up—including me.

  “Done yet?”

  “Close,” I assured her. “You’re kind of the least of my problems right now. Assjacket in is crisis. I have three fat ass familiars on the loose who enjoy defacing property with profane graffiti. My dad has bribed everyone in town to give up carbs for nine months and I’m pregnant with puppies for the love of the Goddess. Eating your house was a necessary mistake.”

  Groaning, I smacked my forehead. “No! It wasn’t a mistake. I’ve gone off lying just in case I’m the cause of the clusterfuck. I ate your house on purpose. But I would like to point out you’re a little insane to have an edible house and not expect pregnant people to eat it.”

  When she looked confused, I plunged on. “I mean, you’re kind of living the stereotype of an evil child-eating witch living in a gingerbread house. However, I’m not one to judge considering I recently starred in a musical version of Mommie Dearest. So as you can see, I have a few problems to deal with back at home, so if you’re gonna smite my ass go ahead and get it over with.”

  She just stared open-mouthed at me as I turned around and prepared to get my butt fried.

  “And even though you’re rude, cranky and basically socially unacceptable, I’m still willing to heal your limp.”

  She said nothing—just stared at me strangely.

  “Now I’m done,” I added over my shoulder.

  “Cookie Witch?” she inquired, trying to hide her smirk.

  “Um… yes,” I admitted. “Didn’t know what else to call you.”

  “Baba Yostankyass?”

  “That came out a little wrong,” I said and then slapped my forehead again. That was a bald face lie. “No it didn’t,” I confessed quickly. “I meant it. That’s just one of the names I call her.”

  “She is a royal back-stabbing skank-hole,” Cookie Witch muttered as she continued to put the pans and bowls away.

  Wait one small minute.

  My stomach clenched in fury and my hair began to blow around my head. My fingers sparked and my magic roared inside my body. Cookie Witch had just broken a sacred rule. Baba Yopaininmybutt was mine to insult. She was family to me in a weird unrelated, semi-dysfunctional way. I could say whatever I wanted about her because I secretly loved her. Of course, I would never admit it in public, but I did love her. And I was pretty sure she loved me—well, at the very least she liked me a lot. This little old biddy could not say bad things about the fashion impaired, whack job leader of all witches.

  “Take it back,” I hissed as I realized I was
at full power again. “You will not disrespect Baba Yomamma in my presence. Shit,” I shouted and banged the back of my head against the wall. “I meant Baba Yaga. Baba. Yaga. NO, I meant Baba Yomamma,” I admitted in my outdoor voice. Damn it to hell it was hard not to lie. “However, I love her and I can say that. You can’t. And if you tell anyone I love her, I will deny it and eat your entire house in one sitting.”

  “Tamp it down, girlie,” she said not even turning around. “Carol knows I think she’s a gaping wad of sewage. She thinks I’m one as well. You? You simply surprise me.”

  Now I was seriously confused. My power swirled but I kept it in check while I got to the bottom of this mystery.

  “Because I could eat your entire house?”

  “Nope.”

  She was clearly not going to explain herself. Fine. I’d pry out what I could and get the hell out.

  “You know Carol?” I asked warily as I reined in my power. My gut said Cookie Witch wasn’t evil—just insane—but my gut could be wildly wrong. And why did I surprise her?

  Cookie Witch refused to answer me. She wiped down her counters and removed her apron.

  “We’re done for the afternoon,” she informed me. “You will come back tomorrow at the same time. You can tell your wolf that I can see through the trees and boulders, so hiding is useless. And tell your father, Marge says hello.”

  Before I could scream—before I could run—before I could raise my hands to zap her evil Cookie Witch ass, I was whipped up in another brownie scented tornado and whisked out of her house. Instead of fighting it, I relaxed and prayed to the Goddess she was retuning me to the car.

  She was.

  I landed in a heap near the SUV. My shocked father landed about three feet from me and Mac showed up in his own tornado about three seconds later. I ran my hands over my body and realized I was totally unharmed. Lucky and Charm sent a ticklish wave through my body and I almost cried in relief.

  “What the hell just happened?” Mac demanded, sprinting over to me and checking me out from head to toe for injuries. He was back in his human form and was wildly confused and concerned. “I was watching you and then I was flying through the air in a bakery scented wall of wind.”

  “I think we might have a problem,” I said, taking Mac’s offered hand and standing up.

  “You think Cookie Witch is the lurking fucking evil?” Mac asked, continuing to check me out for anything out of the ordinary.

  “No, I don’t think she’s evil. She’s crazy and weird and old, but… ”

  “But what?” Fabio demanded impatiently. “What did she say?”

  My father was a wreck. His hair was standing straight up on his head and he was pale. He took his daddy role seriously and I knew it had made him insane to let me go alone to the Cookie Witch. Before I was pregnant, I’d simply laughed off all of his ridiculous concerns—but not anymore.

  “She told me to tell you hello from Marge.”

  “Oh shit,” he shouted and grabbed onto the car for support.

  “And then some… ” I finished for him.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I don’t want to, but I should summon Baba Yaga,” I said, pacing my kitchen in agitation. “Marge knows Carol and Carol knows why Marge was banished… Maybe. However, if Baba Yoyohead gets involved, this clusterhump could morph into a clusterfuck.”

  The morning had dawned bright, sunny and cold. There was a wonderful crispness in the air, but there was far less magic present—not good. My three fat cats, Mac, and my father sat at our kitchen table and listened to me ramble. No one on patrol had found any evidence of honey badgers, vamps, or lurking fucking evil. However, they all found that the magic in the area was waning dangerously.

  The problem had to stem from Marge the Cookie Witch. I couldn’t quite figure out how, but it had to. At this point I prayed to the Goddess it did, otherwise we had no leads whatsoever.

  “Could she be glamouring herself to appear old?” I asked my dad.

  “Could be,” he surmised with a nod, but an expression of doubt. “But the Marge I remember was seriously vain and wouldn’t be caught dead with a hair out of place.”

  “Don’t make no sense,” Fat Bastard said, coming up for air while taking a respite from grooming his jewels. “You says you had your magic in the hairy snatch?”

  “Berry patch,” I corrected him with a wince of disgust.

  “S’what I said,” he went on. “The Nookie Snitch had her power too?”

  “Cookie Witch,” I corrected him again.

  “Yeah, whatever,” he dismissed me with an eye roll and crotch grab. “So as I was sayin’ the Rookie Bitch… she has her magic?”

  “Yes,” I replied, trying my damnedest to overlook his hearing problem without throwing something at him or knocking his furry noggin into the wall.

  “I believe the Bastard might need a hearing aid,” Fabio said, narrowing his eyes at my cat.

  “Nah,” Fat Bastard explained with an evil little kitty laugh. “I just like to fark with Zelda. Good times.”

  “Lovely,” I muttered as I picked up an entire head of lettuce and bit into it like it was an apple. Not the tastiest breakfast, but it was the closest thing edible.

  “Point being,” Fat Bastard went on. “Magic still works there, but no wheres else.”

  “What do you mean no where else?” I demanded through a mouth full of salad greens.

  “Word’s out that magic around the world has gone on the fritz,” Fabio said. “It’s not just here in Assjacket.”

  “Does it bother anyone that the name of the town isn’t actually Assjacket?” Mac asked, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

  “No,” we all replied at once.

  “Alrighty then,” he said and handed me a bowl of fruit to go with the tasteless leaves in my mouth.

  “So if Cookie Witch’s magic works, she must be doing something to keep the area up,” I said, thinking out loud. “Maybe she’s pulling on all the magic around the world so she has the best berries ever.”

  “Lame,” Jango Fett grunted not even glancing up from his nut cleansing.

  “I know,” I snapped. “I’m just yanking stuff out of my ass at this point.”

  “For real?” Jango asked with great interest as he took a brief ball licking break to see if I was being literal.

  “Um… no, you dork. I’m just hoping if I talk enough something will make sense.”

  “Now there’s a scary plan,” Fat Bastard mumbled.

  “Tell me again what she said,” Fabio suggested, giving the Bastard a look that made him shut his cakehole.

  “Well, she compared magic to nuclear energy,” I told him as I slathered an apple in peanut butter and hot sauce. “Said witches use it for evil and they can’t be stopped. She also got grossed out that I offered to eat a stick of butter.”

  My men were smart. No one made a comment on my desire to eat lard. And then much to my shock and dismay, the peaceful atmosphere in my kitchen changed on a dime.

  “Incoming,” Boba Fett shrieked as he dove for cover.

  “Shit,” I hissed as I too took cover. Baba Yaga’s entrances were infamous and occasionally dangerous.

  The room filled with glowing purple smoke and sparkling blue bubbles. A mirror ball set to vomit inducing speed attached itself to the ceiling and the soundtrack from Desperately Seeking Susan bounced off the walls of the vast kitchen. Since Madonna was Baba Yostuckintheeighties’ idol, the music didn’t surprise me. The fact that Baba Yaga showed up without her posse of bobbleheaded warlocks did. She rarely travelled without the snarky little fuckers.

  “Hello darling,” Baba Yaga trilled, giving me an air kiss before laying a lip lock on my dad that belonged behind closed doors.

  “Um… gross,” I said, covering my eyes and groaning. “To what do we owe this alarming visit and yucky display of affection? And where are your stinky minions?”

  “Interesting you should ask,” she replied as she wiped the smeared hot pink
lipstick from my father’s grinning mouth. “Seems there’s a magical shortage. That’s why my cranky posse isn’t here. Too risky that one of them could land Goddess only knows where.”

  “Would that be such a bad thing?” I asked, biting back my smile. They were annoying, judgmental and rude. I didn’t know anyone who liked them—except for Baba Yaga.

  “Touché,” she replied easily as she took in my peanut butter-hot sauce-fruit snack with a moue of disgust. “They come in handy. You’ll see one day when you take over for me and inherit them.”

  “Oh, hell to the no!” I shouted and let my head fall to the table with a thud. “I really, really think you should find another successor. I am not cut out to be a Baba Yaga. Ever. I’m still getting a grip on healing furry freaks as the Shifter Wanker. You really don’t want me leading our kind.”

  “Too bad, so sad,” Baba sang as she gyrated to Get Into the Groove.

  Her dancing was appalling, but her outfit was positively gag worthy—aqua green parachute pants paired with a Flashdance-ripped pink sweat shirt and Nike Air Pythons on her feet. Her bangs were teased and sprayed within an inch of their unfortunate life and she had at least a hundred black rubber bracelets on each arm. Imagining her closet made me shudder in terror. It would be like getting trapped in the bowels of Hell.

  “Marge called you a name—an ugly one,” I told her.

  Her dancing halted, the music died and Baba Yoscary Witch replaced the happy, horribly clad woman who was present only seconds ago. With her eyes narrowed to slits, she approached me slowly. I stood my ground. She wasn’t pissed at me… I hoped.

  “Did you say Marge?”

  I nodded carefully. Clearly this wasn’t welcome news.

  “Marge is dead,” she growled.

  “Um… I don’t think so,” I whispered.

  “I’m quite certain she’s residing in Hell,” Baba insisted at full volume as little sparks of pissed off magic swirled around her. “I would have run into her in the last several hundred years if the old hag was still breathing.”

  While Baba’s voice was strong, the uncertainty in her eyes was odd and slightly unnerving. What in the Goddesses name was really going on here?