Divorced, Desperate and Dangerous

by Christie Craig

  No. No. No. Do not listen. Miranda cupped her hands at her sides and mentally hummed the “Yankee Doodle” song. She’d picked up that song and the act of humming when nervous from her dad. Her gaze cut to the audience for a second. Not that she expected him to be out there. For some reason, even when he was in town, he never attended the competitions.

  Applause erupted from the audience.

  Miranda stood stoic at the girl’s success. She wished no one failure, but their victory added to her problem. Another drop of sweat crawled down her cleavage.

  Suddenly, a dark mood, the same one that had appeared when she’d studied the storm, whispered across Miranda’s soul. She shot Tabitha a frown.

  The girl stood frowning in return, looking uncomfortable in her own skin. Was Tabitha doing this to Miranda? She didn’t appear to be casting a mood spell.

  But it had to be her, didn’t it?

  “Tabitha Evans,” the judge spoke up.

  Friggin’ great. Miranda was going to be last. Swallowing down a lump of fear, she mentally went back to humming. Yankee Doodle went to . . .

  Tabitha stepped up to the table where a fresh apple had just been placed. She repeated a few words, twitched her pinky, and a perfectly round, juicy-looking orange appeared.

  Her orange was removed. Another apple took center table.

  “Miranda Kane.” Her name set a gang of butterflies loose in her stomach.

  She stepped up to the table, now closer to the audience. Her mom’s face stood out. Then Kylie’s and Della’s. You two are going to Paris with me.

  Raising her arm, she recited her spell. “Apple, oh apple, fruit of the tree. Grant me this spell, I place upon thee. An apple no more, an orange you shall be.”

  When the piece of fruit didn’t transform immediately, murmurs of defeat could be heard from the crowd. Time held its breath.

  A second before accepting her failure, a light cloud of magical fog appeared hovering over the table. The apple disappeared and an orange, a bright, perfectly round orange, proudly took its place.

  A light applause echoed from the crowd. The tickle of victory filled her chest. One down, two to go.

  • • •

  Given a five-minute break before the second part of the competition, Miranda ignored the increasing sense of lurking danger and darted off the stage. She refused to let Tabitha’s silly hex distract her. Determined, she hurried back to her room to study the competition brochure and hopefully discover what the next spell entailed. If she worked quickly, she might even fit in one practice.

  Face it. If she wanted to win, she could use a little practice.

  She shut her door, ran to the small table where the brochure had been left unread. The small print seemed to try to push in her brain at the same time. Damn dyslexia. Closing her eyes, she tried to concentrate. One line at a time. One line at a time.

  Opening her eyes, she moved down to the second paragraph and ran her finger under the line she needed to read: The second spell will be altering . . .

  The door to her dressing room shot open, slamming against the wall. Turning, she glared at the intruder, certain it would be her mom, probably to yell at her about the horseshit.

  Not her mom. But the horseshit maker herself.

  “Stop it!” Tabitha seethed.

  “Stop what?” Miranda asked.

  “You know what,” she accused in a serious voice. She walked off, slamming the door so hard Miranda’s eardrums flinched.

  “No, I don’t know, bitch,” Miranda muttered in a sneer. Then, determined to focus on the competition, she pushed all curiosity about Tabitha’s little tantrum into a mental vault, and stared back at the brochure.

  The second spell will be altering live DNA. Each contestant must transform a feline into another animal—the animal of the contestant’s choice.

  A smile lit up Miranda face. What had she done for karma to smile down on her like this? Of course, she could only hope the judges meant it when they said the animal was the contestant’s choice. Odds were, most of the witches would take the conventional route and go with a dog or rabbit.

  She bit down on her lip and did a little victory dance. She’d never been accused of being conventional. It was then she saw her reflection in the mirror. No streaks in her hair. She looked content. Maybe those streaks didn’t define her after all. Did that mean Perry didn’t define her either? There was only one way to find out. Go to Paris. Find answers.

  She looked back at the brochure. Confidence made the air taste sweeter. She was no stranger to altering DNA. This happened to be the spell she’d once attempted, failed at miserably, but had finally conquered.

  All that practicing, week after week, had left that spell tattooed on her brain. She could only hope she got this feline turned and turned back before trouble arose. But again, the judges docked you for not completing a spell, not for being skunked.

  The three-minute warning bell dinged. She moved to leave. Only this time, she looked down and up before she stepped out. Noting the hallway was crap-free, with poise giving her steps some pep, she headed back to the stage.

  • • •

  Miranda found her place with the other girls forming a circle center stage. Flanked by a set of identical twins, whom she’d run across in several competitions, she offered them each a nod. Candy and Sandy Gleason were tall blondes who’d both won more competitions than they lost.

  One of the judges stood up to address the crowd. “No animals will be harmed in the competition. All felines have been blessed, and a superior spell has been placed on them so in ten minutes, no matter what their state of being is, they will be turned back into cats.”

  Miranda had expected nothing less from the council, especially since two years ago, the Wicca council had been sued by the Wicca-affiliated Animal Rights Association because a frog had accidentally been left as a prince longer than he’d agreed.

  Miranda looked up and saw Tabitha standing directly across from her. The girl scowled. Miranda ignored her and the lurking feeling of danger Tabitha had obviously brought on.

  Sienna’s name was called first. Miranda sighed with relief. The only thing she hated more than going last was going first.

  A large black cat appeared on the table. It raised its paw and let out a slow meow. Sienna closed her eyes, raised her hand, her pinky twitching. She started her spell. “Cat to dog. Man’s best friend . . .”

  Miranda purposely stopped listening, not wanting her words to influence her spell. The cat vanished . . . or half-vanished. The creature standing proudly was part gray poodle part black feline.

  Murmurs erupted in the audience. The judges started whispering amongst themselves. The voice of the group stood up. “You have accomplished your task, but with defects. You get only fifty percent of your points.”

  Sienna nodded, lifted her pinky, and changed her creature back into the cat. When the girl moved back into the circle, Miranda saw the sheen of disappointment in her eyes. Miranda didn’t particularly like Sienna, but having been in her shoes so many times, she felt her pain.

  Ten more girls were called forward to cast their spell. Only three got the whole one hundred points. Six had simply failed altogether. Miranda felt the blow for each and every one of them, too.

  Hence one of the reasons Miranda hated competitions. Winning felt good, watching others not win always stung a little.

  “Miranda Kane.”

  Hearing her name fill the silent auditorium had her earlier confidence leaking from her pores. She stepped forward. Taking a deep breath that filled her chest to the brim, she held out her arm and began . . . “Cat, oh feline friend of mine, find your true colors of black and white, turn to creature that lurks at night—one that no one dares to anger thee, or skunked they will be.” One twitch of the pinky and the thought ran amuck in her head. It’s in the bag. In the bag.

  The cloud of magic surrounded the black cat. Then faded. Miranda’s breath hitched when she saw what she’d done. Oh, shit!

&n
bsp; Chapter Four

  There, on the table, sat a burlap bag. In it, something wiggled and rolled. Soft growling noises came from the cloth sack.

  Voices of confusion arose. Stepping forward, praying her only screwup had been invoking the bag, Miranda loosened the string. The room fell quiet. Not even the air stirred. A black pointed nose appeared, and then the beautiful black-and-white skunk emerged in all his glory. It pranced the length of the table and then back. Then turning away from the judges, it raised its tail.

  Soft laughter pushed away the silence.

  “Change it back. Now!” one of the council insisted.

  Reciting the reverse spell, the skunk returned to feline form. Miranda waited to hear if her bag would cost her any points. With her ten-point deduction for not tattling, she really needed to ace this one.

  The unhappy-looking judges whispered amongst themselves.

  Even the air Miranda breathed quivered with nervousness.

  Finally, the head priestess leaned forward and locked gazes with Miranda. “You accomplished your task, and while the bag was extra, we vote not to deduct points.”

  Miranda held her exhilaration in check, but heard a loud victory whistle coming from the audience. Her gaze cut to the crowd and she saw Della standing up, one fist pumped in the air, and a huge best-friend smile on her face. Kylie sat beside her, tugging at her shirttail, as if trying to let her know that cheering wasn’t common practice at Wicca competitions.

  “Please, no outbursts,” said the ol’ biddy judge, staring into the audience.

  Silence filled the room. Miranda, not at all upset at Della, bit her lip to stop from smiling. But Della had just earned herself a big hug. Sure, the vamp claimed she didn’t like hugs, but Miranda knew better.

  “Tabitha Evans,” a judge announced, moving the competition along.

  The name of her nemesis brought Miranda back to the present.

  Tabitha shot Miranda a scowl as she moved forward. Right then, it occurred to Miranda what Tabitha might have meant by “Stop it.” Did she think Miranda was creating the mood spell? If so, that meant that Tabitha hadn’t set it. Was real shit, not just horse crap, about to hit the fan?

  No, Miranda seriously doubted it.

  On the wave of that thought came another trickle of danger and impending doom. Cutting her eyes around at the other girls, she tried to see if any of them wore a mask of guilt. Was one of the other competitors doing this? But if this was a true mood spell, why wasn’t everyone reacting?

  Sure, mood spells could be cast on individuals, but it took a pretty strong spell to target it like that. And if targeted, then why her and Tabitha? And if it wasn’t a mood spell, but actually Miranda’s gift of forewarning, then why was Tabitha reading it as well?

  Miranda’s ability of forecasting trouble, inherited from her father’s family, wasn’t that common. Ha, wouldn’t it totally suck to find out that Tabitha was some distant cousin?

  Actually, more sucky, would be if the foreboding were real. Her gaze shifted to the audience and to Della and Kylie. If trouble plopped its butt down on her, at least she’d have help. Man, she’d lucked out getting those two best friends.

  Tabitha began to speak. Her words rang loud and with confidence. “Feline of black, feline are you, change now to resemble Pepé Le Pew.”

  Miranda frowned. She didn’t have a copyright on skunk transformation, but why her archenemy cared to mimic Miranda’s spell was disconcerting.

  The condensation of the spell descended from the ceiling. It swirled around the feline, stopped, and then started again. When it evaporated, a skunk . . . well, a skunk with tall, skinny feline legs, centered the table.

  Tabitha’s sigh of discontent came just before the murmurs of the audience.

  The judges leaned toward each other to compare notes. When they settled back in their seats, the spokeswoman stood and addressed Tabitha. “You will only receive seventy percent of your points. Let this be a lesson to you to use your own spell and not borrow the creativeness of others.”

  Miranda should have been happy about the girl’s comeuppance, but nope. Screwing up in front of your peers and an audience was bad enough. One didn’t need to be chastised as well.

  Ten minutes later, the second round of competition was over. Only the top ten finalists would move forward. The judges read out their tallies. Miranda’s stomach knotted when she heard she fell into fifth place and the four ahead of her held perfect scores.

  Normally, she’d have been thrilled, but it meant Miranda would have to get 100 percent on her next spell and everyone else would have to be docked points, to take first place. For once she was channeling her mother, and not accepting anything but a complete win.

  • • •

  Miranda had barely gotten to her dressing room for her four-minute reprieve, when a loud knock sounded at her door. Was it Tabitha again? What was it with that girl?

  She ran to the door and swung it open. “What the hell is wrong with . . . you?” She spit out the last word, even though she’d been mistaken on the identity of the knocker.

  Or knockers.

  Both Kylie and Della stood perched at the door.

  “Nothing is wrong with me,” Della smarted back. “You, on the other hand, have got problems! You should have handed them that girl’s head on a platter.”

  Miranda pushed her sassy remark aside and went right in for a hug. “This is for cheering for me.” She tightened her embrace. “Gawd, I’ve missed you. How are things at home?”

  Della wiggled out of Miranda’s hold. “The same.”

  Della had gone back home last week due to her father being arrested for the murder of his sister. She swore her father wasn’t guilty, and it appeared as if it was his twin brother, who was more than likely a rogue vampire, who’d really done the killing. With the help of the FRU, they were trying to solve the cold case.

  Miranda couldn’t blame Della for going home, but no one could blame Miranda for wanting her to get her butt back. Shadow Falls wasn’t the same without her.

  “Thank you both so much for coming.” Miranda hugged Kylie next.

  When she pulled back, the three-minute warning bell rang.

  “Shit,” Miranda muttered.

  “You’re doing great,” Kylie the optimist said.

  “I have to,” she said. “I don’t have time to explain it in detail, but the top five finalists get their way paid to the next competition and it’s in Paris.”

  “Paris?” Kylie said. “Wow. And that just happens to be where—”

  “Perry is. I know,” Miranda said, and looked at Della. “I’m trying really hard to win so I can go shake some sense into him. He’ll take one look at me and realize how much he loves me.” So she did want him back, she realized.

  “Okay,” Kylie said, but she didn’t sound overly confident.

  “Screw Perry,” Della said. “Do you know who’s here?”

  Miranda scowled and ignored the vamp’s comment. “And the best part is . . . and this is really good, guys . . .” She paused to add drama. “If I win first place, you two get to come with me. Mom’s agreed to pay.”

  Kylie and Della stood there dumbstruck.

  “Isn’t that great?” she asked.

  Della started shaking her head, and Miranda spoke up again. “Duh, have you forgotten, Steve’s in Paris, too.” Steve being Della’s almost boyfriend.

  “But—”

  “Just for a few days,” Miranda added.

  Della frowned. “I can’t run off to Paris. I’ve got to help my dad.”

  “Please,” Miranda pleaded. “I need you two there. You are my champions. I’ll screw it up without you two.”

  The one-minute bell rang. “I gotta go. Just think about it. You can’t let me down. You can’t.”

  • • •

  Miranda rushed out and stood in the circle of ten . . . and felt it immediately. Her palms itched with nerves. Not just from the competition or the sense of trouble. Though those both added t
o her level of anxiety. But now, accompanying that unease, was the sensation of being singled out—studied.

  Searching the crowd, she spotted her mom, and even Della and Kylie settling back into their seats. None of them were causing her this discomfort. She let her gaze shift around, when all of a sudden, she saw a curtain to a doorway to the back auditorium flutter closed. Instantly, the feeling faded. Someone had been watching her. Could it be the same person casting the mood spell?

  She probably should have mentioned that to Kylie and Della, but her mind hadn’t gone there.

  Inhaling, Miranda realized that Tabitha—frowning—stood beside her. Was Tabitha feeling any of this? The temptation to lean in and whisper the question bit hard.

  But then a judge stood to address the crowd. Miranda pushed past the unease to listen. The last spell had purposely been left out of the brochure—a test of their spontaneity. Miranda sucked at spontaneity.

  “Today, we have decided to test the contestants’ ability to call upon one of the elemental powers.”

  Miranda’s breath caught. Not fire. Not fire. Please not fire. The one thing she sucked at more than spontaneity was . . .

  “Fire.” The high priestess held up her hand and a flame came out of her fingertips.

  Heavyhearted, Miranda considered walking off the stage. Her inability to control this particular elemental power had left a mark on her, or rather it had left a mark on her father.

  She’d been eight and mortified when her attempt to light a candle had created a fireball running amuck around the house. Running until it found her father’s backside. The poor man hadn’t been able to sit down for a week. Not that he had punished her. He’d simply laughed, saying his mooning days were over. Unlike her mom, he never seemed to care that she wasn’t perfect.

  Looking around again, she questioned her reasons for putting herself through the embarrassment of trying and failing.

  The answer came back. For Perry.

  “Our first contestant is . . . Tabitha Evans.”