With a wave of her hand, Marge produced a drawing of a pentagon and gave it to Sassy. Sassy studied the picture thirty-seven seconds too long for my sanity.
“Nope, it doesn’t look like this,” she announced to a very relieved audience. “Looks more like a hand and finger weenies with balls.”
“Well, that certainly makes it all better,” I snapped, shoving Fat Bastard off my lap and Sassy off my bed.
Hopping to my feet, I began to pace the room. I knew I was coming unhinged, but this was horrifying. Roger must be a basket case. He was always a slight basket case, but this… this would make a sane rabbit a freakin’ mess.
“I have to fix it,” I muttered, pacing like a caged tiger hopped up on a vat of caffeine and multiple boxes of Twinkies. “I really didn’t want to touch it, but I’m going to have to. Maybe if I wear gloves I won’t puke on him. I mean, it would be bad if I hurled on him after I gave him a pants-full of peckers. And who ever even heard of a spell going this wrong? It’s appalling. I’m completely willing to hand myself over to the authorities and go back to the pokey. I just want you all to make sure my children know how much I love them and don’t tell them why I had to live out my life doing hard time until they’re at least thirty… or fifty… or never. Just make something up that sounds good. The only thing I request is that I don’t have to wear orange. It clashes so badly with my hair, I don’t think I would survive it. Do you all feel me here?”
“Zelda, calm down,” Baba Yaga snapped in a brook no bullshit voice.
I was actually relieved she was so bossy until I looked over at her and lost the use of speech.
She was dressed in sunshine yellow spandex from head to toe. Her wrists were adorned with so many black rubber bracelets, I figured she could bounce or float on water. The silver sequined cone-shaped bra over the unitard could put an eye out. But the gauzy purple skirt trimmed in feathers and tiny pictures of Madonna’s face was the topper—from hell.
Baba Yaga, aka Carol, was working an enormous hairdo that must have taken ten cans of hairspray to hold up and her eyes were rimmed with yellow glitter. The most shocking part of all was that even though the woman looked like a reject from a Madonna video, she was still gorgeous.
Unreal.
As much as I wanted the voice of reason to tell me what to do, it was going to be difficult to make eye contact with her and not laugh.
“Trying,” I said, staring at her nose. It was the only thing on her face that didn’t sparkle. “I’m just going to have to reverse the spell.”
“Bad idea,” Marge said.
Thankfully Marge had taste and was easy on the eye. She and Baba Yaga were sisters and looked alarmingly alike, but Marge wasn’t permanently stuck in the eighties.
“Why?” I asked. “I gave him too many John Holmeses with a spell. I can take them away with a spell.”
“What exactly does John Holmes have to do with this?” Marge asked with tremendous trepidation.
She feared my answer—as well she should.
However, Sassy decided to take over and we all became terrified.
“There was a genitalia—another French word or possibly Swedish—naming ceremony about a year ago,” Sassy informed an increasingly pale Marge. “Roger admitted he named his member John Holmes—which I have to say is wildly inaccurate. Anyhoo, Zelda is just avoiding having to come up with polite penis terms by calling Roger’s wang by its proper name.”
“I see,” Marge said, pressing the bridge of her nose and biting back either laughter or bile.
“So I say we just decide on one single name for the salami and this will all go much smoother,” Sassy suggested as if that would solve the heinous fact that I’d more than doubled Roger’s salami.
“I put my vote in for rod, tallywhacker or dong. Youse can’t go wrong with dem names,” Boba Fett volunteered.
“Youse is forgettin’ 100% beef thermometer, The General and pork sword,” Fat Bastard added.
“Nah, youse guys got it all wrong. I’d go for tent pole or meat popsicle,” Jango Fett rounded out the disgusting suggestion pile.
“How about this?” I stated calmly as I waved my hand and rendered my revolting familiars mute.
“Thank you,” Marge said. “However, until we get to the bottom of what happened, I don’t think you should use magic, Zelda.”
“That’s kind of harsh,” Sassy commented, coming to my defense.
It was harsh—really harsh, but Marge was right. I’d used dark magic on Roger and didn’t even realize it was happening. Goddess only knew what other tragedies I could conjure up.
Twisting my hair in my fingers, I sighed and plopped back down on the bed. “Marge is right,” I said, defeated. “I’m a danger to myself and others right now. If I keep going like this, we could have a town of seventy-five people with enough genitalia for three hundred.”
Thankfully no one had a comment for that. I don’t think I would have been able to stop myself from zapping someone who agreed with my grim statement.
“She needs to be trained,” Baba Yaga stated the obvious. “If Zelda can’t control the dark, it will control her.”
“And who exactly is going to train her?” Mac asked, not liking the direction of the conversation any more than I did.
“Has to be someone who has dark magic,” Fabio said.
“I have dark magic,” Sassy announced with a shudder. “However, I’d like to go on record now saying I have no fucking idea how to use it either. And in solidarity—pretty sure that’s a German word—with my best friend Zelda, I’m not going to use magic either. If she gave Roger five… wait, what did we decide to call them?”
“We didn’t,” Jeeves told her.
“Okay then I’m just going to randomly pick a name. Cool?”
When no one answered she took that as a yes.
“If Zelda aka Houston gave Roger five badoinkadoinks, I’m liable to saddle someone with ten to twenty. That would be a total shit show and pants would be a real problem. I don’t even know if pants would be a possibility and since winter is coming… well, you all get my drift. Right?”
“Unfortunately we do,” Baba Yaga said, shaking her head. “I think it’s best if you don’t say anything else for at least thirty minutes, Sassy.”
“Is that an order or suggestion?” Sassy asked.
“Order,” everyone in the room said in unison.
“There’s really only one option,” Marge said as her lovely face turned pink with embarrassment.
“And that is?” Mac asked.
“We bring Bermangoggleshitz to Assjacket,” Marge announced.
“My dad?” Sassy asked, clearly forgetting she wasn’t supposed to speak. “Here? In Assjacket?”
Baba Yaga nodded her head and watched her sister with interest. “Yes. I agree. He’s working on redeeming himself. This might be just the thing for him to prove he’s serious about becoming a better warlock.”
“I don’t like it one bit,” Mac said through gritted teeth.
“Neither do I,” Fabio said. “But I have to agree with Marge and Carol on this one. He’s the only one to train the girls to use the dark sorcery without hurting themselves or anyone else.”
“And you think he’ll do it?” Mac growled. “He’ll play by the rules?”
“He wants something here,” Baba Yaga said, still staring at her sister. “So yes, I believe he will abide by any conditions we set. And if he doesn’t, I will end him.”
“You can do that? You can kill him?” I asked taken by surprise.
“I’m the Baba fucking Yaga,” she said with a wide grin. “I can do whatever I want. Plus there are many things far worse than death, my child.”
“Yeah,” I muttered, leaning on Mac for support. “Five badoinkadoinks is one of those things.”
“Trust me,” Baba Yaga said. “Roger is a bit… how can I put this politely… pervy. He’ll be more disappointed when he’s back to one than he is devastated that he has five.”
�
��I hope you’re right,” I said, closing my eyes and breathing in the delicious scent of my mate. Mac’s presence alone gave me strength.
All I wanted to do was curl up into a ball and pretend today hadn’t happened. I wanted to play with my babies and then act out a pornographic fairy tale with Mac when the kids went to bed…
But all that would have to wait. I had penance to pay. And pay it I would.
Shitshitshitshit.
Chapter Four
“What are you doing?” Sassy asked watching me with great interest.
“Laundry,” I mumbled, wondering how much soap I was supposed to add. Living without magic was almost more of a shit show than living with it. I was a freakin’ disaster in the home department. I’d used too much soap in the dishwasher this morning and gave the kitchen a bubble bath by accident.
Henry and Audrey had been delighted. Me? Not so much. Thankfully Fabio had been here and was able to magically erase my bubbly booboo.
“Those have some nasty stains,” Sassy pointed out, referring to the onesies my babies had worn on the outing with their dad.
They had shifted into wolf puppies and I’d missed it due to the horrifying fact I’d been busy giving Roger multiple badoinkadoinks. I was heartbroken that I’d been absent for their first shift, but they’d been shifting constantly at home now. It was all kinds of unreal and they were just as cute as tiny wolves as they were babies.
“Yep,” I agreed, staring helplessly at the grass stains on the knees of the adorable little outfits. “I think I saw on Pinterest that you’re supposed to soak grass stained clothes to get them clean.”
“In what? Vodka?”
“Not sure… maybe toothpaste,” I said. “Or lemon juice and hydrogen peroxide with some fertilizer.”
“Do you have all that stuff?” Sassy asked.
“No.”
“Should I go get your dad? He’s downstairs with Henry and Audrey teaching them how to play blackjack.”
“Like my dad knows how to do laundry?” I snapped with an enormous eye roll.
“Point.”
“Exactly. He’s doing enough damage teaching my kids to play poker.”
Sassy paused and I could see the wheels of her pea brain turning. It was all kinds of unsettling.
“Then I say we just throw them out and get new shit.”
That gave me pause. She had a fine point, but that was the weenie way out. I wasn’t a weenie… Nope. I just created weenies. Lots of them. Shitballs. I needed to remove all penis references from my vocabulary. It was too depressing to constantly relive my massive fuck up.
Thankfully Baba Yaga was correct. Roger was delighted with his enhancement. He’d sent flowers and cookies. However, I was still so mortified at the mess I’d made I couldn’t even eat one cookie. And I freakin’ loved cookies.
“We’re not throwing them out. Just because we have no skills doesn’t mean we can’t learn them. Can you pull up Pinterest on your phone?”
“Don’t have a phone.”
“Why not?”
“You blew it up,” Sassy reminded me.
Motherhumpin’ crapballs. She was correct. And the Goddess only knew where my phone was. If my head wasn’t attached to my body I would have lost that too.
“Okay. Fine. This is not a problem,” I said, sounding far more confident than I felt. “I’m just gonna fill up the utility sink and put some dryer sheets in there and seven caps of detergent.”
“Should I get some vodka?” Sassy inquired.
“No, the kids are underage. I don’t want them to smell like a bar. But go get the toothpaste from my bathroom. I want to smear it all over the stains before we soak them.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Sassy said, skipping out of the laundry room.
“Probably a bad plan,” I muttered to no one since I was alone now.
Feeling worthless, I sat down on the mountainous pile of dirty towels and let my head drop to my hands. I was a disaster as a witch and clearly a disaster as a human. I didn’t know how to do anything without magic. Not to mention, if Roger’s new additions were any indication, I didn’t know what to do with magic either…
And now Bermangoggleshitz was coming to train me. Life kept getting suckier.
Well, I could still love Mac and my babies. I didn’t need magic for that. Audrey and Henry didn’t seem to mind that I wasn’t using enchantment to float their stuffed animals around the room or make the pictures in their storybooks pop off the page and play with them. They were simply happy to be with me.
But they were babies. They didn’t know I was a magical megaflop.
“The toothpaste has arrived!” Sassy announced with an armload of bathroom products.
Biting back my grin, I heaved myself up to see what other potions she’d grabbed. “Have you researched any of this?” I asked, taking a few bath bombs and a bottle of shampoo out of her hands.
“No, but it stands to reason that they should work. If this shit can clean teeth, hair and bodies, it should be able to get rid of pesky grass stains—that was Greek,” she explained as she dumped the contents into the utility sink.
“What was Greek?” I asked, adding the dryer sheets and seven caps of detergent to the brew.
“Pesky. Comes from the word Peskodopolis, meaning jackhole.”
It was difficult to render me speechless. Hard, but doable. Sassy was a pro at it.
Together we stared at the goopy mess in the sink. It didn’t look quite right to me, but what did I know? Apparently nothing. At least I was trying. Mac was proud of me and that made me feel ten feet tall.
“Do we just leave it?” Sassy asked.
“I think we need to add water,” I said, wildly unsure. “At least it smells good.”
“Hot or cold?” she asked, hands on the knobs.
“I’m gonna go with both,” I replied and then froze.
They yelp from the Great Room didn’t sound good. Thankfully it wasn’t Henry or Audrey. It sounded more like Fat Bastard, but I wasn’t sure. Without a backward glance, I sprinted out of the laundry room like a demon was on my heels. No, I couldn’t use magic, but I would protect my children with everything I had left. Always.
“It ain’t no big deal, Sugar Boots,” Fat Bastard said with my son in baby wolf form attached to his big hairy butt. “We was wrestlin’ and baby Henry here got hisself a little excited.”
“Henry,” I said, ignoring my cat’s strange endearment while trying not to laugh at the bizarre picture of my child with his fangs embedded in my rotund familiar’s butt. “We don’t bite people or cats. Take your teeth out of Fat Bastard’s rear end and shift back to human. Now.”
With a little huff and a shrill giggle from his sister, Henry shifted and crawled over to me. My twins were ten months old. They were a fabulously joyful handful, but I refused to raise heathens who bit others in the ass.
Scooping him up and snuggling him close, I breathed him in. “That’s not what a good boy does,” I told him. “We do not bite people. Ever. Am I clear?”
Taking the big wet smackaroo to my cheek as a yes, I sat him down on the floor with Audrey. My other two familiars, Jango Fett and Boba Fett along with Lucky and Charm—my babies’ little kitten familiars—were busy checking out Fat Bastard’s ass.
“Doll Face,” Fat Bastard said with a wide and proud grin on his feline face. “Don’t youse be getting’ down on the boy. Weeze was teachin’ him how to defend hisself. Magic don’t always work. Sometimes youse gotta use manpower—or in his case—motherhumpin’ sharp, pointy, little fang power.”
“They’re babies,” I said, stressing the word so they would know I meant business. “They do not need to learn how to fight before they walk. And I don’t want them to think it’s okay to bite people.”
“What about bad guys?” Jango asked. “Youse gotta want ‘em to smack down on bad motherfuckers. Right?”
“Dooze not say fucker in front of the rugrats,” Fat Bastard hissed and walloped Jango in the back of the he
ad.
“My bad,” Jango said, getting in a quick left kitty hook to The Bastard’s jiggly gut. “I meant mother farker… which is very different from motherfucker.”
“Clearly,” I said with an eye roll to beat all eye rolls.
“I was here the entire time,” Fabio chimed in as if that was supposed to reassure me…
My father patted Henry and Audrey on their heads full of curly red hair as they giggled happily.
“Yep, I also heard you were teaching them how to gamble,” I said, giving my dad the look.
Fabio had gotten in tremendous amounts of trouble gambling over his centuries on earth and was trying to change his ways…
“It’s good to learn early so you don’t get screwed over,” Fabio pointed out with a sheepish shrug. “Anyway, they got bored with cards so we played horsey.”
“Horsey?”
“Yep,” Jango bellowed and fell over in exhaustion. “Weeze was the horseys and the babies was the cowboys.”
Chuckling, I shook my head. Jango didn’t have far to fall as his enormous stomach almost touched the ground. My children’s upbringing was definitely odd, but it was also full of love—the exact opposite of mine. So if my cats wanted to be horseys and my dad wanted to play cards, I was okay with it.
“Let me see your butt,” I said to Fat Bastard, gently pushing all the cats out of the way and examining him. “I need to heal that.”
“Umm… you can’t,” Sassy reminded me with waggling eyebrows while miming male genitalia with her hands.
And yet another fail for me.
My eyes filled with tears and I stared at my feet. This was awful.
“It ain’t nothin’” Fat Bastard assured me. “A band-aid, some scotch and a good Cuban cigar will fix my ass up just fine.”
“Come with me to my office,” I said. “Maybe I can do a little something without magic to make you feel better.”
“And just so youse know, Sweet Cheeks, I’m fine with an extra pecker or three,” my cat said over his shoulder as he waddled his fat ass out the front door followed by his equally rotund cohorts.
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