The Incompetent Witch and the Very Big O

by DC Thome

  “You say it as though there’s something wrong with that.”

  “No, no…not ‘wrong.’ There is no wrong between loving, consenting couples.” Every now and then all that therapist school comes in handy. “Anyway, you got confused. What else happened?”

  “I barely had time to clasp the bra before she jumped my bones,” Mitch said matter-of-factly. “She clawed at me like a rabid weasel.” He raised his arm so I could see where her claws had left marks. Marks that looked strikingly like those on Spur.

  This just keeps getting weirder.

  Anne awoke with a groan. “Mitch?”

  Brigid gave her the speech about resting and not doing the nasty. And I do mean nasty. Both these people smelled like rotting garbage. Made for each other, I guess.

  I knelt next to Anne. “I need to talk with you about sex.”

  “For Goddess’ sake, I just gave her the rest-and-don’t-do-it speech,” Brigid said.

  “She may be able to tell us something important.”

  “Suit yourself. I’m outta here.” Brigid swept out the door of the smelly cabin.

  I turned to Anne. “Did anything weird happen before you blacked out?”

  “It’s okay.” Anne coughed. “I saw…how would I describe it?”

  Mitch chimed in. “Pink flashes.”

  Anne perked up. “That’s it! I thought it was just the cute little red silk ties on Mitch’s panties.” She winked at him. “It was the most amazing orgasm I ever had. A whole-body orgasm. It felt like electricity was shooting through me, and I never wanted it to end.”

  Holy shit! I patted Anne, then went outside—only to again witness Brigid basking in glory from a crowd of shifters. Whateverthefuck. I walked down the narrow, bush-lined road to sort my thoughts. Pink flashes…wall lizards…crows…wolverines—all clients of mine. These events were obviously connected to each other—and to what happened to me. I stared blankly down the road, then looked up toward the horizon.

  Holy double shit.

  Mapping out the location of each incident in my head resulted in a straight line from Sabbat Hill.

  An even more disturbing realization hit me: I needed to tell Brigid. Even though I hated her guts, the shifters would need her if the attacks continued. And I’ve got a feeling they will. I turned to hustle back to the cabin—but slipped and fell on my thankfully well-padded ass. My hand landed in a puddle of pearly muck, the likes of which I’d never seen nor felt. At least, not on the ground. It had a familiar sliminess: slick and gooey, but not necessarily disgusting—in the right context. I held up my hand and spread my fingers. The clear goo stuck like glue while also running slowly down my wrist.

  A charge of energy shot up my arm and down my spine and caused my soft chewables to clench.

  Holy quadruple shit! I know, I skipped “triple shit”—but this was that bad.

  I scrambled to my feet and stared at the ground. Glittering in the sunset was a trail coming directly from Sabbat Hill, passing the cabin where Anne had had her near-death ooh-baby-yeah experience—and making a beeline toward town.

  ***

  Brigid was still drinking in praise for the wonders she’d worked throughout the day, and she was not pleased to have me interrupt.

  I pulled on her gown. “You have to come with me. There’s something you have to see.”

  “What, are you going to lift your skirt and show me your minihaha?”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Everyone for miles around knows what happened on Sabbat Hill last night.”

  Good—then maybe someone can tell me. I glanced around; many heads were nodding. “Oh, for Goddess’ sake, I’ve seen two-thirds of these people naked in the diner downtown!”

  “Were they engaged in shameless troilistic sex?”

  Okay, point Brigid. I gritted my teeth and spoke quietly to her. “Can we forget about that for two minutes? People’s lives are in danger, and there’s something you have to see.”

  “I suppose there will be more adulation to come,” she said to me. To everyone else, she said, “Thank you all so much. It’s been a long, hard night, so everyone go home and rest. But don’t have sex.”

  Groans and sighs.

  “I know, I know. But, hopefully, this will be a temporary situation.” Brigid’s empathy was fake, though. I could tell because the tone of her voice was at odds with the pleased half-smile she was clearly trying to suppress. I tugged on her gown again. Her eyes flared. “How would you like a hard jolt to your big fat ass?”

  Must…not…kill…healer…witch…no…matter…how…big...a…bitch…she…is.

  On the way to the slime trail, I laid out my theory about the attacks.

  “Are you saying that you brought this monster—or disease or whatever—to Deau de Cheneaux and it’s turned into an epidemic?”

  “No. Were you even listening? I said it attacked me first.”

  “So, you’re kind of a Typhoid Mary.”

  I hit the brakes. “Go ahead and blame me. I do not give shit one about that. But if you’re not interested in finding out what’s going on, I’ll find out on my own.”

  Brigid rolled her eyes. “Please, show me your major discovery.”

  By the time we reached the point in the road where I’d slipped, most of the goo had dried, but a few drops glistened in the light of the newly risen moon.

  Frigid Brigid was unimpressed. “It’s dew.”

  “It’s not dew. Feel it.”

  “I’m not touching that.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s—icky.”

  “You said it was dew.”

  “It is. Icky dew.”

  I scooped up the biggest glob I could see—barely enough to coat the tip of my index finger. My finger tingled as I held it up. “Whatever this is has to be taken seriously. Don’t you get it?”

  “Get it away from me!”

  Clearly Brigid needed to feel the tingly stuff for herself. I aimed my finger at the nearest bit of bare skin—her face. Before I could make contact, lancets of lavender electricity burst all around me and knocked me once again onto my posterior. “What the hell, Brigid?”

  “I’ll tell you what the hell,” she raged. “You have an obsession, most unbecoming in a person of your lineage.” Ouch. “If you were even a halfway respectable practitioner of our ancient craft, I might be more inclined to take you seriously. But you’re not, and I don’t.”

  I struggled against my rising therapist rage as she ranted on: “I’ve spent my entire day doing things that make a difference in people’s lives—including saving them. Now I need to rest in case I’m needed again—and I’m pretty sure I will be. You, of course, are free to hit the clubs and drink yourself into oblivion.” She held up her hand to mimic someone guzzling booze. “But if you played any role in bringing about whatever abomination is causing this havoc, you have an obligation—a duty—to stop the attacks.”

  She straightened her gown, raised her arm and said, “In the meantime, I warn you: Do not profane the sacred hill again. I am a healer, so I cannot punish you if you do—but I know powerful people.”

  She waved her arm and disappeared in a bigger, more-obnoxious-than-usual cloud of lavender smoke.

  Eat me, Brigid. “Abigail!”

  My cat materialized. “I’m here.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “The whole time.”

  “Again, did you not think it was appropriate to—oh, I don’t know—HELP me?”

  “I helped you by letting you fight your own battles.” She plunked down and started licking herself.

  I got to my feet. “There’s no time for that. We’ve got work to do.” I stuck my fingers under her nose. “Sniff this.”

  Abigail took a half-breath and shivered. “Interesting.”

  “I’m glad you think so. Now follow the trail.”

  She looked at me like I was nuts. “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “You’re a Goddessdamned dog, ar
en’t you?”

  She hesitated, then answered, “I never said I was a bloodhound.”

  No, but you sure can be a bitch.

  I looked toward the hill, then did a one-eighty and set my bearings. Grabbing Abigail by the scruff, I levitated us just enough to clear the tallest nearby bushes. “We’re going this way.”

  Chapter 4

  My instincts to head toward town proved right. The goo trail picked up not far from the wolverine incident and kept getting thicker, deeper and gooier. A pink glow grew as we approached a hillock. I flew faster, spurred on by sounds audible near the crest: Moans and grunts and oohs—and words like “yeah,” “harder” and “baby.”

  “Turn around!” Abigail ordered.

  “No way! Whatever’s causing all this mayhem is straight ahead.”

  “That is exactly why I’m telling you to turn the fuck around.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

  “I’m frightened. Petrified. Fucking paralyzed with fear. How’s that?”

  “I promise you, Abigail, that if it looks like we’re going to be killed, I’ll throw you as far as I can in the opposite direction.”

  “Not helping!”

  “It’s your job to help me—not the other way ’round.”

  Abigail squeezed her eyes shut as we reached the top of the shaggy mound. My first impression was of two deer getting it on. Hang around in the woods long enough and you’ll run into that. What you won’t run into is the deer suspended in a massive, pink, undulating bubble. The grunts, moans, oohs and “babies” seemed to be coming from the amorous couple, but as I listened more closely, it became clear that at least some of them were not.

  My jaw dropped. I screeched to a halt in midair. “What the fuck?”

  Abigail opened one eye. “If I had to guess”—she opened the other eye—“two deer are having sex inside a quivering pink bubble.”

  I landed and put Abigail down. “Yeah, I really didn’t need your help on that one.”

  “I was helping you,” Abigail said, “by letting you use your own powers of deduction.”

  “My powers of deduction say I would be fully justified if I punted your ass right into the middle of that thing.”

  “My powers of deduction,” Abigail said, “say you should pay attention to what’s going on in the middle of that pink thing.”

  The bubble’s color, as well as the grunts and moans, intensified. I stood mesmerized by the thing’s texture, its hypnotic movements, its pulsating pink glow. Warmth spread throughout my body. The coos and sighs, it seemed, were trying to draw me to it. Meanwhile, the buck humped so fast that the lower half of his body became a blur. The doe raised her head, arched her back and pushed into her lover. Looks like she likes it like that.

  Then the couple shuddered uncontrollably and stopped breathing. Which, under the circumstances, I would expect to happen for a moment or two. But while the male eventually gasped and continued as though there had been no interruption, the female held her breath so long that her body went rubbery and her eyes rolled back in her head.

  Without even thinking about it, I shot a bolt of lightning at the bubble. It stopped quivering and spun around, as though trying to look at me. But I saw no eyes. Features shaped like eyes, lips, breasts, penises and vulvas formed and dissipated in high-speed swirls on the bubble’s skin, like fruit chunks in a blender. And even though the lips never moved, I very plainly heard a husky voice say, “Fuck me, please. Do me, baby. Right here.”

  Pulsing and shaking, cradling the deer while flashing images of doppola-Ds and donguli molto grande, the thing gyrated toward me.

  “If you’re not going to throw me,” Abigail said, “I’m going to just burn rubber outta here.”

  “Wait.”

  “Bye-bye!”

  I jerked Abigail back into my arms. “Listen. The thing’s tone. It’s different. What’s it saying?”

  “Approximate translation: ‘I’m going to fucking rip you limb-from-limb. Let your dog go.’”

  “You just made that up. It sounds like it’s pleading with me.”

  “I’m pleading with you,” Abigail said, “but that doesn’t seem to impress you at all.”

  I couldn’t explain why I was holding back. As the thing got closer, I became more mystified than afraid. But when it touched me, a sensation that felt like pounding your thumb with a hammer while at the same time accidentally grabbing a high-powered electric drain auger instead of a trusty gentle vibrator shot through my being. It was so intense that it affected Abigail, too, launching her from my grasp with a pained yowl.

  I fell back and blasted the bubble again, with three times the energy. It rocked sideways, then lurched away, pathetically burbling and whimpering and leaving the deer to collapse into puddle of pearly ooze. The buck staggered and reeled and—thank Goddess—the doe came to. She slipped back to the ground every time she tried to stand, but at least she was conscious and moving around.

  “I’m going to help them, Abigail. You follow the thing.”

  The deer had morphed into human form. They were weak in the knees but, thank Goddess, conscious. Especially because, once again, they’d been clients of mine: Earl Buck and Jane Doe.

  Jane looked up at me from sticky slop. “Wha- what happened?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “Are you all right?”

  “A little sexually frustrated,” the buck said, “but otherwise, okay. Are you okay, Jane?”

  I helped Jane to a full standing position. She was as wobbly as a bambino, but strong enough to lean against me. She blinked her big round eyes and said, “Who are you?”

  “Prudenzia La Strega. Don’t you remember when you and Earl—”

  “Oh,” she said. “The incompetent healer.”

  And you’re welcome for saving your lives. “Yes, that would be me,” I said. “But that’s not important. What is important is, can you tell me if anything odd just happened?”

  “You mean,” Earl said, “like an incompetent witch and her hideous dog showing up out of nowhere to interrupt our lovemaking?”

  “That is my cat,” I said, “which again, isn’t important. I’ll be direct: What do you remember about the pink bubble?”

  They looked at each other, then said at the same time, “What pink bubble?”

  Fuck me! “Did either of you come?”

  “That’s getting a little personal,” Earl said. “You’re embarrassing my wife.”

  Jane’s nose had turned bright red.

  “Okay, how ’bout this: Did you see any pink flashes?”

  They looked at each other again, but this time, Jane shifted her feet and said, “Um, sure.”

  “Right before you blacked out?”

  “I blacked out?”

  “I didn’t see any pink flashes. What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “I can see why they call you ‘the incompetent one.’”

  “Earl, be polite,” Jane scolded. “She’s not ‘incompetent.’ She’s…‘special.’ And, besides, she did help us get through the whole thing about how you were worried that your rack was too small—”

  “Yeah, no need to get into that now,” I said. “What I meant to say is that I don’t know now what that was all about, but I’m working on it. Jane, do you remember getting dizzy, anything like that?”

  “Things got a little blurry.” She lifted a dainty foot. “Where did this disgusting puddle of goo come from?” We both looked at Earl, who shook his head.

  “How ’bout you, Earl? Did you feel faint?”

  “No. I was really into it, though.” He glanced at his mate. “I mean, I always am, but this time seemed a little more…am.”

  “I see. You got this, Abigail?” I’d caught sight of her back on the hillock after apparently taking exactly zero steps in pursuit of the bubble.

  “No.”

  More helpfulness. “All right,” I said to the deer couple, “since you both seem to be okay, I’m going aft
er the bubble.”

  “Be careful,” Jane said. “There are lots of trees around. I wouldn’t want you to crash into any of them.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’m sure I can handle it.”

  “Oh, so there’s something you can do! How nice. Did you hear that, Earl?”

  “I heard,” he said. “Tell her not to forget her hideous dog.”

  I trudged back to the hillock, where Abigail was lying down and licking her privates. “I told you to go after that thing.”

  “I am crazy,” she said, “but I’m not insane.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “Who knows what that thing is? No way I’m following it alone. Besides, I was helping you by—”

  “I don’t want to hear how.”

  “—not allowing you to foist potentially dangerous tasks like chasing weird genitalia-covered bubbles that eat animals and leak sticky glorp all over the place upon others whom you consider your subordinates.”

  I scanned the woods, but saw no pink glow or goo trail. “It doesn’t eat animals. And you are my subordinate, you little shit. That is the definition of a familiar.”

  I grabbed Abigail and tried to levitate, but I felt dizzy and weak and didn’t have enough power to get us into the air.

  “Running out of gas?” Abigail said.

  “That second blast took a lot out of me.”

  She rolled her eyes. “All right, I’ll take us home.”

  She transported us to my bedroom, where I crumpled to the mattress and fell asleep.

  ***

  I remained effectively unconscious until almost noon, and would have slept later if not for an annoying series of pokes to my hip. I buried my head in my pillow and mumbled, “Fuck off, Spur.” If he was prodding me with his piccolo uomo, I didn’t feel like dealing with it.

  “You’ll have to say it louder if you want Spur to hear,” Brigid said. “He’s not here.”

  That woke me up like a jolt of hot witchy beams under the fingernails. “The fuck are you doing here?”

  “Not what you’re doing,” she said. “Must be nice to lie around all day when other people are up all night working their asses off. Which, in my humble opinion, you could use a little of.”