Minions and Magic: Accidental Witches Book 5

by Dunbar, Debra

  Ophelia and Pierre jumped out of the ambulance with Ricky close behind. I stood back and let my sister and her vampire co-worker help Stanley while Ricky jotted down a bunch of notes on a pad of paper attached to a clipboard. He took my statement, then wandered over to the Hyundai while I hovered near Stanley, hoping for some good news.

  “This your jack?” Ricky called.

  I shot Stanley a concerned glance, then wandered over to him. “Yeah. That one there, I don’t know where the one Stanley used was. I’m assuming he used one.”

  Ricky shrugged. “Might have just tried to pick the car up with one hand and change the tire with the other. I’ve done it before when I couldn’t find my jack, or when half of it was missing.”

  I could totally see Ricky doing that, large round belly and all, because he was a bear shifter. Not that werewolves were slackers when it came to strength, but they didn’t quite have the muscle mass that bears did. Plus there was one other thing that made me doubt Stanley had been using the technique Ricky had suggested.

  “He was under the car, flat on his back. I don’t think he would have been in that position if he’d been holding the car up with one hand and turning lug nuts with the other.”

  Ricky’s thick unibrow practically shot up to his hairline. “Why was he underneath the car if he was changin’ a tire?”

  I blinked in surprise, because I hadn’t even thought of that. Yeah. Nothing Cassie had taught me about changing tires had involved scooting underneath the car with the tire off and the vehicle perched precariously on a cheap, comes-with-the-car jack.

  Glancing over at where my sister and Pierre were working on Stanley, I hoped he’d be able to answer these questions.

  Ricky grunted. “Found the jack. But what the acorns and walnuts is it doing way over here?”

  I looked to see where he was headed and saw him pick up a hunk of metal from across the road. Now that was just as much of a mystery as what Stanley was doing under the car. I’d assumed the jack had broken, or the gears hadn’t held the car in place, but if that was the case it would have been lying next to or under the car, not all the way across the road.

  I glanced back at the Hyundai, but didn’t see any signs of an explosion or something that might have propelled the jack so far away and allowed the car to drop down onto Stanley.

  “Looks like it’s okay,” Ricky said. “Not sheared off, or any damage that might have caused it to drop the car.”

  That I didn’t quite take as any sort of clue, given that I was skeptical that such a flimsy jack could reliably hold a car upright anyway. But why had Stanley been underneath? I never would have crawled under a car supported by my crappy factory jack if I hadn’t been trying to save someone’s life.

  “He’s stable,” Ophelia announced. “I’ve got everything aligned, and relieved some of the cranial pressure. Glenda, do you have anything to speed his healing along?”

  Now that I could do. I walked over to see Stanley on a stretcher, his back supported and bandages holding everything where it needed to be. His face still appeared a mess, but his eyes were alert as his gaze met mine. I gave him a smile, then went to the trunk of my car and pulled out a bag. Inside were half a dozen twenty-ounce drink containers, each containing a different potion. I chose the one I’d prepared for traumatic injuries, carefully brewed during the spring equinox, and passed it over to Ophelia. She flipped open the lid. A straw popped out, and she held it to Stanley’s lips.

  The werewolf shot me a piteous look.

  “Drink it,” I told him. “You’ll be on your feet by tomorrow instead of laying in your bed for days or even weeks.”

  He did as I said, gagging and choking as he forced the smoothie down. I knew it probably tasted like old gym socks, cow poop, and ground beef that had sat in the summer sun for three days, but it was powerful stuff. Watching Stanley’s aura, I saw it brighten, glowing with the greenish gold of spring’s first leaves. That was when I knew he’d be okay.

  Pierre and Ophelia stood, standing back a bit as they watched Stanley. He grunted, sweat breaking out on his forehead as he slowly moved his toes.

  “Spine’s healing first,” my sister commented. “That means either the brain injury wasn’t all that severe, or that Stanley didn’t have any brain to injure.”

  The werewolf made a raspy noise that I realized was a laugh. “Only need the brains for fishing and car repair,” he quipped.

  I felt the adrenaline drain from me, realizing he’d truly be okay. “You scared the heck out of me, Stanley. I’m glad I glanced in the rear view on the way by or I wouldn’t have seen your feet sticking out from under the car.”

  “Thanks, Glenda.” He gave me a faint smile. “For the healing potion, too. Although I hope I never have to drink anything like that ever again.”

  I laughed. “Just don’t go crawling under cars supported by crappy factory jacks while you’re changing a tire, okay?”

  He frowned, looking puzzled. “Tire blew, but there was a leak. Was worried it was coolant and I’d overheat, so crawled under to check.”

  “And the jack gave way,” Pierre finished the werewolf’s sentence.

  Stanley shook his head, wincing at the motion. “No. Jack was fine. Someone…I think someone kicked it out. I remember seeing a foot, and a shadow, then the car crashed down on top of me.”

  Ophelia looked over to me, one eyebrow raised in a silent question.

  “Ricky did find the jack across the street,” I told her. “I can’t imagine how it would have gotten that far if it had broken.”

  “And it’s not broken,” Ricky confirmed, holding the jack up for Ophelia to see.

  “If someone kicked it away…” Ophelia let her voice trail off, her eyes meeting mine.

  I knew exactly what she meant. If it had been me kicking a jack away, it would have been right next to the car. Actually I doubted I’d have the muscle to kick a jack out from under the car it was supporting. No, that sort of thing would take supernatural strength, whether the perpetrator kicked it clear across the road, or flung it there after the fact.

  Either way, I believed Stanley. And that meant at the very least we had an assault that had occurred in our little town, if not an attempted murder.

  Chapter 4

  Glenda

  It was dark by the time I left the accident site, and as I drove I couldn’t help but think about Stanley. Ricky had made a call to Sheriff Oakes before they’d even loaded the werewolf into the ambulance, and Ophelia promised to update me tomorrow at our family dinner, but the memory of what Stanley had looked like when I’d crawled under the car haunted me the whole way home.

  Had someone really tried to hurt him, maybe even kill him? Stanley used to pal around with Clinton and his friends, getting into bar fights and joining in drunken vandalism from when they were teens until just a few months ago, but I couldn’t recall that he’d done anything that might get him singled out for revenge among the other townsfolk of Accident.

  Anyone who met Stanley today would think he was just a chill werewolf who dug working on cars and fishing, but he’d gone through a wild phase the same as every other shifter. But I was pretty sure none of that would cause someone to drop a car on him. No, I was convinced the motive for tonight’s attack came from the events surrounding Stanley’s exile from not just one pack, but both of them.

  Where Shelby’s offense had been loving a troll, Stanley’s had been what both packs considered treason. When Clinton had broken off a splinter faction from his father’s pack—the result of which was nearly a war— Stanley had remained a supposedly loyal member of Dallas’ group.

  Unbeknownst to Dallas, Stanley was acting as a spy and secretly aligned with Clinton. It hardly seemed in keeping with his aw-shucks personality, but the werewolf had pulled it off until Clinton’s group had gone too far and nearly gotten my sister Bronwyn killed.

  Stanley had risked his life to do the right thing and help my sister, blowing his cover and getting himself exiled. We’d h
eard rumors of individuals in both packs who wanted him dead, but we’d granted Stanley asylum and protection since we were the witches who ran Accident. Dallas and Clinton had made it known to their followers that they didn’t want to jeopardize their ability to live inside the wards by killing someone under our protection, which should have kept him safe. That didn’t mean someone wasn’t still willing to risk it all and kill Stanley. Emotions ran high among shifters, and with werewolves, loyalty to the pack was expected.

  I resolved to put it all out of my mind until tomorrow. Ophelia would keep tabs on Stanley’s recovery and what the local law enforcement was doing about his claims. I’d drop off another potion at the hospital to help speed things along in case my previous one hadn’t been enough magic to get Stanley on his feet and back home. We’d all discuss the issue of who might want Stanley dead enough to defy their alpha. And I’d let Cassie know that this peace and the inclusion of the lone wolves would never work unless Dallas and Clinton made an effort to personally welcome both Shelby and Stanley at the barbeque on Saturday.

  I made the turn down my street and stuffed my thoughts into the back of my mind. It had been a long day. I really wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed, but there was still work to be done. Pulling into my driveway, I headed inside and switched on the lights. Most people would find my house odd, but for me, it was perfect. When I’d bought it, the one-story house had two bedrooms and a jack-and-jill bath off the back. The front section held a living room to the right of the front door and a dining room to the left with a small kitchen in between the dining room and the wall for the smaller bedroom and bathroom.

  I’d promptly knocked out all the interior walls except the one bedroom and the bathroom and converted the spare bedroom, living room, dining room, and kitchen into one enormous kitchen.

  It’s not like I’d ever had friends over or anything to require a sofa or any area to eat. If I wanted to watch TV, I did it from my bed. If I wanted to eat, I pulled a stool up to one of the long stainless-steel tables and ate.

  Yep, I’d turned my house into one giant commercial kitchen. The little electric stove and fridge were gone, replaced with a walk-in I’d had custom built and a series of six ovens as well as an eight-burner gas stove. I had two mixers so huge that they had to be on the floor, plus several smaller ones. There was a giant butcher block, a marble-topped table complete with a cooling system for confections. Just walking into my house made tears come to my eyes and a warm feeling spread through my chest. I’d made this place my home. It might not be what anyone else would consider a reasonable place to live, but for me it was perfect.

  There was a time when I’d had other hobbies. As a kid I’d played kickball, swam in the ponds and streams, and climbed up the rocky slopes of the mountains that bordered the north and west sides of what was Accident. Yes, I spent a lot of time in the kitchen, and I remember my Grandmother teaching me how to make pies and biscuits when I was so young I needed to stand on a chair to reach the counter.

  In my teen years, I still enjoyed scrambling up the rocks in the mountains, but more and more of my time had been spent in the kitchen. By sixteen, I knew what I wanted to do for a living with as much certainty as how to make a smoothie that would heal burned flesh overnight.

  Rock climbing was still fun, but I’d put that aside for a spatula and some high-quality saucepans. I’d barely made it to my high school graduation because by then I already had catering events scheduled pretty much every moment I wasn’t in school. An all-consuming romance at the age of twenty had almost put the brakes on my obsession, but when that had gone up in flames, I’d found solace in the one thing that had always been there for me, the one thing that had never let me down, the one thing everyone loved me for—my cooking.

  Putting the schallea in the fridge and the herbs and spices on the counter, I began the exhausting task of unloading all the trays and supplies from the Allen engagement party. When I was done, my normally clean and tidy kitchen was a mess of dirty pans, utensils, and serving platters. I eyed the chaos, wondering if I could get away with leaving it all until morning. But I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep soundly knowing this was all waiting for me, and no one likes to wake up to a stack of dishes with dried-on food, so I rolled up my sleeves and dug in.

  By two in the morning I’d dried the last shiny, stainless steel serving tray and placed it neatly on the wire rack with the others. Done. And now it was time to relax.

  I poured myself a big glass of shiraz, and headed for my bedroom, shedding my clothing as I went. A long hot shower and a glass of wine later and I was feeling mighty pleased with myself. It had been a good day, outside of Stanley being squashed by his car. I had a happy client who’d promised repeat business. I’d picked up the supplies I needed to get started on the delicacies for the gnome party. I had two events scheduled for next week that I was really excited for—two events that wouldn’t take me outside of my beloved Accident. Plus, tomorrow was family dinner night and I was looking forward to seeing my sisters, their significant others, and the racoon that Bronwyn always brought and slipped food to out the kitchen door.

  As I slid in between cool, soft sheets, I thought of the party and my mind kept returning to the demon. I didn’t even know his name. I’d probably never see him again. But as I drifted off to sleep, I felt myself warm at the thought of his wicked sexy smile, and the naughty glint in his bright blue eyes.

  Chapter 5

  Glenda

  In spite of getting to bed fairly late, I was still up at dawn, caffeinating the sleep out of my body and thinking about what I should bring to family dinner tonight. Munching on an extra scone from an order, I hauled the book where I kept all my recipes out and settled in for a leisurely morning.

  My house is at the outskirts of town, on a quiet residential street where chain-link fences separate the miniscule backyards. Most mornings I sit on my front porch and wave to the neighbors whose jobs require they be up just as early as me. This was Sunday, though, so I was on the back patio, noting that Mr. and Mrs. Boogness, the goblins who lived two houses down, were also sitting on their back patios, bleary-eyed as they watched their son chase his new pet possum around the yard.

  Young goblins are adorable in the way that 1980s troll dolls are adorable. I watched the kid play, then smiled over at his parents, raising my cup of coffee in a salute to all of us up early on a Sunday.

  Hmmm. What should I bring to family dinner? Cassie was always in charge of the main dish, which meant there was a comforting predictability about what we ate. Baked ziti. Meatloaf. Stew. Pot roast. Fried pork chops. Roast chicken. Spaghetti with meat sauce. Enchiladas. Every now and then my eldest sister would branch out and make something that we hadn’t had every week growing up. Those were the Sundays where we usually ended up calling for pizza delivery. Just as I was the only one who’d been gifted with the magic of healing, I was the only one in our family who seemed to be able to cook.

  There was no way Cassie would be awake this early, so I sent a quick text to Bronwyn, asking her if she knew what the plans were for a main dish tonight. Then I slipped a few sticky notes in to mark recipes that I thought I’d like to prepare—a white bean and prosciutto side dish that would be a good accompaniment for a variety of meals, and two cornbread recipes. One cornbread was sweet and moist, and the other was spicy with bits of minced jalapeño.

  Setting my recipe book aside, I refreshed my coffee from the carafe, and grinned as I heard Brian Holter across the street fire up his abnormally loud lawn mower. No amount of complaining from neighbors made a difference in the routine of one of the few humans that lived in Accident. Every Sunday, Brian mowed, trimmed, edged, blew leaves or snow all at an ungodly hour of the morning. I never minded since I was awake anyway, but others were incensed by the loud noise just as the sun was coming up on a weekend.

  Sylvie, my therapist sister, claimed it was Brian’s way of asserting himself as a human surrounded by stronger, faster, and magically powerful superna
tural beings. Personally, I think he did it because he was a jerk.

  Bronwyn texted back that last she’d heard we were having pot roast, so I decided on sweet cornbread and headed inside, grabbing my carafe of coffee. Closing the door didn’t completely block out the mowing noise from across the street, but I lost myself in cooking, not even noticing the sound after a few minutes.

  Putting the cornbread in the oven, I got dressed and puttered around my house for the rest of the morning, oddly uneasy. My home had always been a sanctuary. I’d never minded my rather solitary lifestyle, immersing myself in cooking and finding great joy in both the magic of my healing smoothies and creating food, but today I felt strangely empty.

  For once, I didn’t just want to hang around my house until it was time to head to Cassie’s, so instead I grabbed a few things from my fridge and headed to the hospital.

  I was thrilled to see Stanley dressed and being helped into a wheelchair by a dryad nurse. He was pale and a little wobbly, but looked so much better than he had just twelve hours earlier. I handed him a box of honey pecan cookies and a to-go cup of my healing smoothie then asked how he was feeling.

  “Better.” He sniffed at the smoothie and grimaced.

  “Drink it,” I ordered. “I want you at work tomorrow like nothing happened. And at the barbeque on Saturday.”

  He sighed, flipping the lid and downing the potion with a shudder. When he was done, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and handed the cup back to me. “Not sure I want to come Saturday, especially after what happened last night. Thinking I won’t be welcome. Thinking I might end up dead.”

  I bristled at the thought. “Not on our watch. Cassie will be there. All of us will be there. We’ll make sure you’re safe—both you and Shelby. I’m asking you as a friend, Stanley. I’d like you to at least make a brief appearance. Exchange a few words with the non-werewolves, as well as with Clinton and Dallas, then eat something and leave if you want. It’s important, not only to you and Shelby, but to anyone else who might end up being a lone wolf in Accident.”