by Heather Long
“Are you absolutely mad?” Offended didn’t begin to cover his tone. “Who would choose to be a damn skunk?”
“Hey, I don’t judge.” But I did snicker. Martin glared at me and, as a peace offering, I pulled out the walnut coffee cake he’d requested. He fell on it like a ravening beast. “Watch the crumbs!” I jerked my gaze back to the road because traffic thickened the closer to the city we came.
“I’ll eat all the crumbs.” His speaking around a mouthful of coffee cake sent more bits flying. I let him eat and bit into one of my own muffins. Pretty sure I sounded like a crazy animal, too. By Demeter’s fortunate bounty, I hadn’t been this hungry in eons. When Martin finished his coffee cake, and I was halfway through breakfast sandwich, I went for another moment of reconciliation.
“Want to split one of the strawberry cheese muffins?”
“Oh yes, please!” Enthusiasm filled his voice and his chitters grew even more excited. He went for his coffee while I got the second muffin out. He hadn’t lied about getting all the crumbs. He’d practically cleared the seat. The second muffin wasn’t long for the world. He devoured it in short order.
We didn’t talk much as I navigated through town, and then we were back on the open road weaving through the Shenandoah. The air cooled, but the sun grew hotter. I slipped on a pair of sunglasses.
Sprawled on the seat next to me, Martin let out a belch. Then a somewhat mortified, “Excuse me.”
Laughing, I shook my head. “Your compliments to the chef.”
“Those muffins were awesome. Any chance we can stop somewhere else?”
I rubbed my thumb and forefinger together. “We’re skint.”
“Skint?”
“Yeah, I heard it on a show I was binge watching. Means broke. I have enough for gas and maybe one more meal, so we need to conserve it.”
“Ugh.” He grunted, still flopped on his back. His tummy seemed distended, but I forced myself not to stare at it. Did skunks fart? Did it accidentally trigger their spray? These were not the thoughts I wanted to take with me on the road. “As soon as I resume my proper form, I will treat you to a steak dinner.”
“Sure.” I nodded. “Sounds good.”
“You don’t have to act like you’re humoring the crazy person. I have extensive wealth, I assure you.” The prim and proper tone reappeared in his chittery little voice. Skunk snobbery. It would be all the rage.
“I’m not humoring a crazy person. If you hadn’t noticed, I’m a witch driving a convertible bug and barely keeping myself at the speed limit while ferrying a skunk around in the passenger seat. A conversational skunk, I might add.”
“A cursed skunk.” He rolled over and leaned against the seat back as though trying to sit like a person. Didn’t work too well, but I let him do what he wanted. “I have not always occupied this form, and I don’t intend to occupy it a moment longer than necessary.” He shifted his position then began to scratch at his ear frantically.
“Problem?”
“Damn thing itches.” A low moan escaped him as he pawed at it fervently. “Probably from your shrill scream.”
“I already apologized for that.” Again, he surprised me. What else was I supposed to do when he leapt out of the dark at me?
“I know you did.” He sighed, and sank into the seat. “I appreciated the apology. I appreciate the ride even more.”
“But?” Cause there was a big ol’ but hanging off the end of his tone. A second “skunk but” of the day.
“But, I would like very much to not be in this form. That said, you seem to be a witch of some caliber—dress code notwithstanding. How much to have you remove the curse from me?”
Dress code? Supercilious prig. Two could play that game. “I don’t know the witch who cast it or if she had a legitimate gripe with you. After all, turning you into a skunk speaks to certain character flaws he or she may have wanted highlighted.” I ticked off point one, then held up two fingers. “I also don’t know the actual spell. Trust me when I say ripping off a curse when you don’t know what ingredients they used for the first one is akin to stripping a stain from colored clothing with bleach.”
“Hmm.” Martin pawed at his chin, seeming to rub at it in thought. “I see your point.”
“Even if I knew all of those ideas, I’m too expensive by half. You’re better off talking to the Shifter Whisperer when we get to Assjacket.”
“I’m not a Shifter!” Martin complained.
“Then don’t talk to her.” I went with a shrug. Dude, I had enough problems. I really didn’t need his. “I feel your pain,” which was a total lie but it sounded good right? “Unfortunately, I have a task of my own to complete. So, I’ll get you to Assjacket then we part ways. Deal?”
“Doesn’t sound like much of a deal to me.” Martin heaved a long sigh, one too long for such a tiny thing. “I need to poop.”
“Ugh. Wow, boundaries man, boundaries.” Did he really just say that to me?
“Everyone needs to poop. I don’t need to use a restroom, but I do need to poop.” He nibbled on one of his claws. “I’d advise stopping soon.”
Yeah, we were of like minds there. I accelerated searching for anything, a rest stop? An isolated gas station? Anything? Of course, he mentioned his need when we were in the middle of nowhere. “I’ll stop as soon as I can. You hold it. If you make a mess in my car, your ride is over and very likely your life.”
“For pooping?” he squeaked.
“In my car? Yeah, trust me. The last guy who booted inside of my car faced far worse.”
Silence met my grand statement, then Martin shifted on the seat and leaned toward me, whiskers quivering. “What’s worse than death?”
I held up one finger, stiff and forward, then let it sag. “Permanently.”
The skunk’s eyes widened, and he shrank in on himself. “Permanently?”
“Permanently.” I nodded, as a sense of savage satisfaction raced through me. I hadn’t intended to make him impotent. In fact, the spell had the word important weaved into the lyrics, I just misspoke.
Course, I’d been pretty damn drunk at the time. Either way, dude seriously regretted puking in my car. It was my wheels. No one puked on Baby.
And no one pooped on her, either.
“I’ll hold it,” Martin promised.
I turned the radio back on and switched to the show tunes station just in time for Seasons of Love… Martin’s groan at the lyrics just made me smile wider.
“Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes…” I let my voice rise even as I put a cap on the magic. See, I have control.
Most of the time.
Chapter Four
Two hours from Assjacket, with the light at the end of the tunnel just within reach, the fucking tire on the rear driver’s side suddenly went pop. I locked both hands on the wheel, a song of protection ready on my lips as I fought to get the car over to the shoulder. The wheel fought back as the thump slap of the flattened tire created drag, which really sucked when one was doing seventy in a sixty.
Probably only pure luck of the Goddess kept us from flipping ass over teacup. Considering the top was down, I’d be a big witch-like splat on the pavement. Not my idea of how to end the day. I made it to the shoulder with judicious application of the brakes.
Panic-fueled adrenaline surged through me as we came to an abrupt halt. Shaking, I glanced at my passenger who had flattened himself against the seat, tail straight up and eyes wide as he looked over his shoulder at me.
“Don’t you dare.” But it was too late. He sprayed me.
And my mouth was open, dammit.
Choking, gagging, and spitting out the foul taste, I managed to get the car into park. Then I did the utterly mature thing—I beat my hands against the steering wheel.
“I’m sorry,” Martin sounded genuinely contrite. “It’s a nervous habit.”
Hardly mollified by his words or his intentions, I kept pounding my hands on the steering wheel. Tears seemed to gush from
my eyes and turned the world into a wavering mess. I couldn’t breathe without smelling the acrid odor. It was everywhere. On me. On my clothes. On my car!
“Witchy-poo?” The skunk in question crept toward me. His soft, doe-eyes swam in my gaze. I could barely make out his white capped and striped black body. The tail, at least, was down, or I think it was. It didn’t really matter.
I’d spent years stuck in service to vamps because I said one wrong damn word. Then of course, there was the bill I ran up trying to escape that racket. Then the bill I ran up when I realized they weren’t going to let me go. That was neither here nor there. I had a chance. A chance to fix Nasty-Face’s stupid mistake—not that I thought one single solution actually existed in the universe, but I’d take what I could get.
All I had to do was get to fucking Assjacket. I slammed my palm on the steering wheel once for every word in that sentence. Martin touched me with a paw, and it served as a tipping point for every damn thing that had gone wrong in my life since open bar karaoke.
I screamed.
When I was little, my nanny used to tell me that when it all got to be too much, giving a good healthy scream could relieve the tension. “After all, little bit,” she would say. “Why do you think babies cry? They scream when they are upset or over stimulated. They don’t have words. So, if a good scream works for them, it should work for you, don’t you think?” The soft Irish lilt in her voice, a throwback to her youth, offered nearly as much comfort as the sage advice.
If ever there was a time for a good healthy scream, this was it.
I gave it everything I had, pouring into the sound all my frustration, longing, and upset. When I finished, and slumped back against the seat. It was like a miracle. It worked. Sure, I still stank to high heaven. My eyes still watered. My tire was still flat. But I felt better.
I could think. If I could get the nasty taste out of my mouth, I could work the charm to get rid of the stench. A strange gurgling sound distracted me from the contemplation, and I glanced at the passenger seat. Martin the skunk wasn’t there anymore. Did I make him go poof? I was trying to get rid of my frustration after all.
The gurgling sound repeated, so I released my seat belt and crawled over to the passenger seat to peek over the side. Martin writhed on the grass. His little body trembled, then sparks began to fly off of him. I ducked when one shot too close for comfort. Fireworks detonated overhead.
Like something out of a mouse movie, he rose into the air, swirling in sparks and colors. Light shot from his fingers—yes fingers, not claws—then from his toes, and finally his tail vanished. His body actually elongated and became human.
When he dropped to the ground—buck ass naked, I might add—he crouched. It had superhero landing written all over his pose. What? I watch movies. Even to my teary-eyed vision, he seemed pretty ripped. He sucked in a deep breath, and I held mine. When he canted his head upward, our gazes met.
Yep. He still had deep, soulful brown eyes. The dark mop of his black hair was sullied by a single white stripe cutting through it. Long dark lashes decorated his eyes, and his jaw was firm, almost square. Since he was so gloriously nude, I took a glance at the package.
Oh. My.
“Ahem,” he said, his voice as prim and proper as ever. “My eyes are up here.”
“Yep,” I agreed with him. “Already saw those.” His thighs were muscular, taught and tan. If I hadn’t seen him do the magic switcheroo-thingy, I would never have pictured him as a skunk.
“That truly is a foul odor,” he commented. “You reek.”
Magic lust broken, I glared at him. “It’s your fault.”
He grinned. “I know, and now you’re looking at my eyes again.” He stood, putting his package at my eye level, and I sniffed disdainfully.
“I’ve seen better.”
Pushing away from the door, I grimaced at the fresh wash of acrid stench. Okay, enough was enough.
“I’m gonna wash this man’s stench right out of my hair,” I sang. “I’m gonna wash his stench right away. Don’t patchouli it up, tear up or dry away, just wash his stench right off of me and my hair and my car and clear the air.” Vanilla scented blossoms invaded the vehicle, swooshed around me and carried all the acrid stink away.
Slumping into the driver’s seat, I sighed in relief. I could still taste it a little, but my magic was intact, and it worked just fine thank you very much. Martin reached for the passenger door, and I pointed a finger at him. He froze.
“No. You keep your naked ass off my leather seats. Got it?”
“I don’t seem to have any clothes.”
“Not my problem.”
Even if we were in the middle of nowhere.
“So, you plan to just leave me here?” He actually managed to sound offended.
Ignoring him for the moment, I slammed my way out of the car and went to examine the flattened tire. Mr. Jaunty Package joined me. Studying the tire, I considered my options. I was pretty sure there was a spare in the trunk, not so sure how to change it. I could theoretically magic a fix if I knew what the problem was. If it had a nail in it, well, I needed to remove the nail. If not, I still needed to know the physics.
Goddess above and below, I’d hated physics in high school. I didn’t much care for it now. Magic shouldn’t require an understanding of physics when one wanted to bend the rules. Sadly, my magic did.
Still ignoring Martin, the happy naked guy, I circled around him and went to open the trunk. What would a tire changing kit looked like? Everyone had one in their car, right?
I stared into the trunk, which was ridiculously small and why my suitcases were in the backseat of the bug rather than the trunk itself. All I saw was carpeted interior. No tire. No lift thingie. No iron.
Didn’t they come with a car?
I nibbled at a nail then jerked the finger away. I’d spent years trying to break that habit. I did not have time to get my manicure fixed if I screwed it up.
“Look, witchypoo, I apologized for the spray. And on the upside,” he said, spreading his arms wide and giving me a full view of his mullet-headed body’s fine attributes. “Not likely to happen again. You fixed me.”
“You’re not welcome.” I glanced from the empty trunk to the empty road. Of all the times to have gone off the beaten path. I was stuck in the middle of nowhere with a naked dude and no spare tire.
“Come on, don’t be cranky. I can change that tire for you.” He gave me a bump with his hip. It was a harmless, almost playful gesture and, for a split-second, it reminded me of the adorable little creature he’d been. Great Goddess, now even I think skunks are adorable? What is wrong with me? Unfortunately, playful bump or not, he was still naked.
I withdrew a step so he couldn’t touch me again, and he gave me the most crestfallen look. “You’re still naked.” Did I have to remind him? Couldn’t he feel the breeze? “And you were a skunk five minutes ago.”
“All cured.” He beamed. Damn, if he didn’t have the best smile. It warmed his whole expression and kindled heat in his eyes. Of course, that wasn’t the only place it kindled heat. Best not to think about it too closely. “You fixed me, witchypoo.”
“Would you stop calling me that?”
“Well, I don’t know your name.” The crisp notes in his accent teased me. I couldn’t really place where he was from. Of course, I found him somewhere in Tennessee…or had it been Virginia by then? Dammit, the whole road trip seemed to be bleeding together into one long accident waiting to happen.
“Bridget.” Hands on hips, I still considered my options for fixing the tire. Maybe I could simply magic a wheel out of thin air. Making something out of nothing required a lot of energy and focus. What if I manufactured a type of tire that I could hold in place with song until we reached Assjacket? Could my voice hold up to two hours of song? Once upon a time, I could have handled eight to ten hours without pausing to do more than sip some water.
Running my fingers over my throat, I frowned. Working for the vamps,
I had only been allowed to sing for their pleasure or to lull their clients/victims/blood bags as needed. They’d controlled it all, like I was their personal stereo. Even then, I hadn’t been allowed to sing more than an hour, two at the most.
“I can change the tire for you,” Martin offered. Did the guy have some compulsive nice gene to go with his nervous spray tic?
“I don’t have a—” I shut up when he pulled up the carpet on the bottom of the trunk to reveal a spare tire, complete with lift thingie and another tool. “Oh. I didn’t even know that was in there.”
“See, I’m your guy.” He gave me another of those panty wetting smiles then pulled the tire and tools out. Calm as you please, he went to work and had the car lifted and the tire swapped out while giving me a magnificent view of his sculpted ass.
“How the hell did you stay so ripped as a skunk?” The question slipped out before I could haul it back in. After all, I wasn’t involved remember? I wasn’t supposed to care.
“Do you know how much running one does as a skunk?” He tossed the question over his shoulder, then grinned again. My heart did a little shudder, like one of those palpitations they talk about on medical shows. Pressing two fingers to my pulse, I tried to count the beats in sixty seconds. I was way too young and good looking for a heart attack. Right? The left arm didn’t hurt, but I was flushed and more than a little warm. Wait, women didn’t have the same signs as men.
“A lot, I would suppose.”
He tightened another screw on the spare tire, then stood and lifted the damaged tire. “Totally low carb diet with little sugar. I guess the body found fighting trim the way to go.” At the trunk, he glanced down at himself and one of his pec’s bobbed up, then down. He repeated the maneuver with the other pec. “That’s fascinating. I’ve never had that much muscle control before.”
Snapping my mouth shut before the drool escaped, I forced my gaze away. “Fascinating, I’m sure.”
After he lowered the car back into place, he added the tools to the trunk then closed it. “Is that enough to pay for the coffee and food this morning?”