by Amy Boyles
"Very funny. It's not that high."
Roman nodded behind me. "Maybe you should take a look."
I gasped. The flower on nuclear steroids had jetted up to the chimney.
"Seriously, Dylan," Sera said. "The neighbors will start to notice."
Grandma twirled the strand of pearls around her neck. "It's not the neighbors you should be worried about. It's the witch council. They find out about this and it's curtains for you girls."
My jaw dropped. "For us? This was your idea. You wanted the vincas to be bigger."
Grandma shook her head. "Bigger, Dylan. Not apocalyptic." She wiggled a finger in the air. The paper-thin skin was nearly translucent from old age. "There is a difference."
"Not that it matters now." I nibbled on a corner of my index finger and spat out a square of nail. "So fix it, Grandma. You're the most experienced out of all of us."
Grandma lifted her hands and mumbled something. The flower shook, rattled and sprang even taller.
"This. Is. Bad," Reid said.
Grandma shook an enraged hand at the plant. "It's taken on a life of its own, girls. It doesn't want to stop growing and is using our own magic against us."
"You could say that again," I said. "So what do we do?"
Grandma snapped her fingers. A World War II army helmet appeared in her hands. She strapped it on and said, "We go to war, that's what."
"Can't you just wipe the thing’s memory?" Sera asked.
Okay, so I know that sounds weird, right? Like, really weird, but it's true. One time I worked some magic on a pair of scissors, charging them to life. Well, the scissors had so much fun that they didn't want to stop cutting and dancing. That's right; the inanimate object wanted to live.
Apparently that's also what was going on here.
Grandma fisted her hands on her hips. "No time to wipe its memory, Dylan. It will fight me all the way to the end. We have to take drastic measures."
Roman strode toward it. "Those drastic measures better include stopping the neighbors from noticing."
Suddenly a round of screen doors opened.
"What's that thing?"
"Looks like a giant flower!"
"Well, what's it doing?"
"Looks to me like it's growing."
I rubbed my face, groaning. Apparently I lived in a neighborhood filled with Sherlock Holmeses.
Not.
The house phone's shrill peal broke through the murmur coming from our neighbors.
I raked my fingers through my hair. "No one answer it. It's probably someone calling to see what's going on. We've got to contain this. Like yesterday."
"I'm on it," Roman said. He strode into the house. In an emergency situation such as this one, I was almost surprised he didn't break into a sprint or even a quick walk. No, ma'am. Roman Bane was cool as a cucumber in absolutely every situation I'd ever seen him in.
Me, on the other hand… I had rings of sweat staining my armpits that I was certain would never wash out.
I whirled on my grandmother and sisters. "Let's try one more time to stop this thing. If we don't, we'll have Jonathan Pearbottom up our rear ends so high he'll be poking out our noses."
"Dylan, gross," Reid said.
"Sorry. Let me try to be politically correct while I'm facing a giant flower that looks ready to eat our town."
Sera clicked her tongue. "It wasn't even PC. It was just gross."
Grandma clapped her hands. "Girls, no time to argue. We've got flower power against us. We need to stop it."
The four of us focused, generating what felt like enough magic to light a city. We shot it into the flower.
Everything stopped for a moment.
The flower rose five more feet as the ground rumbled. Thick, branch-like roots erupted from the soil, extending outward and latching on to more ground. A quake splintered through the neighborhood.
"Oh yeah. I'm pretty sure we're toast. Councilwoman Gladiolas is going to be so mad at us," Reid said.
"Don't say that," I hissed. "Besides, we're protected from being punished."
That was true. Several months ago we'd helped solve a murder mystery involving a witch. Because of that, Councilwoman Gladiolas gave us immunity from punishment for using our power in front of regular people. To be honest, I think she felt sorry for us. Up until that point, we'd accidentally worked a lot of magic in front of people. I believe she thought that at the rate we were going, we'd be boiled alive in no time.
Yep. That's the punishment for letting people see your magic.
Gross, right? Thank goodness we were exempted.
Sera stepped back. "Dyl, the thing's the size of a skyscraper. No way we're getting out of this."
I glanced up, shielding my eyes in order to get a better look. My stomach crashed to my feet. Dear Lord. Wavering high overhead and looking ready to take over the United States air space, lived a vinca that shouldn't have existed.
No doubt about it. We were toast burned to beyond a crisp, leaving nothing but skeletal remains. Once the witch council found out about this, we were dead.
Maybe I could go into hiding. If I left now, I could grab a bag of clothes and get out of town. As I started to think that was the most brilliant idea ever, the door crashed open.
Roman strode to the flower, an ax in his hand. "Stand back. Way back."
"I've got you blanketed," Grandma said.
"Don't you mean covered?" I said.
"No, Dylan. And it's not nice to correct your elders."
"Never stopped me before," I mumbled.
The head of Roman's ax bit into the flower. The plant shook, vibrating the earth.
"What's going on?" I heard one of the neighbors say.
"What in the world?" another shouted.
Roman swung again. The steel chomped a chunk of stem from the vinca. The plant shuddered. It stopped growing, hovering as if suspended. The flower existed in that half second between standing still and falling.
I sucked in air.
The vinca lingered, a soft breeze blowing its petals. It tilted forward as a sharp wind caught hold of it.
Then the thing plummeted to the ground.
"Now," Roman shouted at Grandma.
She waved her hands, and just before the vinca broke fences, trees and roofs—it vanished.
As if by magic.
Which was technically what happened.
A breath of air shot from my lungs in relief. I glanced at Roman. He dropped the ax to the ground. A dark expression etched his face.
"You okay?" I said.
Without a word Roman crossed to me. The worried look fell away, and he wrapped me in a hug. He smelled of pine and musk. I melted into his arms, letting my anxiety wash off.
"I'm fine," he whispered, stroking my hair. "But are you okay?"
I leaned back and my gaze locked with his. Other than his sea-green, soul-searching eyes turning my knees to jelly, I was fine. "I'm okay. I'm glad you showed up when you did."
He winked at me. "I must have some sort of sixth sense when it comes to you."
"What do you mean?"
"I can sense when you're about to get in trouble."
I poked his ribs. "I thought you came to tell me something important."
"I'm surprised you remember with all the fuss about the flower."
I rolled my eyes. "I figured by important you meant we were going to Paris."
He lifted a brow. "Want to?"
I bit the inside of my cheek. "Does that mean we'd have to be alone? Like all the time?"
It was Roman's turn to roll his eyes. "Yes. And it also means you'll see me naked."
My face heated to smoldering. "Um. Well."
He grinned. "Don't worry, darlin'. I'll count you in."
I had not up to this point seen Roman naked. Nor had he seen me.
He grabbed my hand and kissed the fingers. "I'm serious. If I hadn't shown up, that thing would be halfway to asking God about life's deepest secrets."
"Very funny."
He shrugged. "You love me anyway."
It was my turn to grin. "You're right. I do."
He wrapped me even tighter and kissed my cheek. "Thank goodness for small miracles."
I peeled away and gave him a wobbly smile. "So the whole neighborhood saw that."
"Yep."
"Looks like we've got a lot of memory wiping to do, Grandma."
Grandma lowered her arms. "Already done."
"Good thing. I'd hate to get into trouble with the council or even the witch police."
Roman took my hand. "Me too."
The screen door opened. "Dylan Apel."
My blood froze. I turned around.
There stood Witch Police Inspector Jonathan Pearbottom—arms crossed, face bent into a sour expression, parrot-shaped nose looking especially parrotish. "Dylan Apel," he repeated. "You and your sisters are under arrest for working magic in front of nonmagics."
All feeling left my limbs. I glanced at Grandma.
She wrung her hands. "I always hated vincas."
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Quit Your Witchin’
by Amy Boyles
Copyright © 2017 Amy Boyles
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.