Magic and Mayhem: Witchin' A Ride (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Sharon Saracino

  “It’s a highway, not a blue line. And it’s west, not right. You aren’t seriously planning to take this bucket of bolts on the interstate, are you?” My cat inquired in a dry tone as I hit the blinker and looked both ways. “You’ll be pulled over before you hit the first mile marker.”

  “Oh, and I suppose you have a better—” My words snagged in my throat. My foot slammed on the brake, bringing Ronald to a screeching halt, and giving me instant whiplash in the process. I widened my eyes at Doyle as my hand slipped to my nape to work out the kink. “Satan’s satin suspenders! How long have you been able to talk?”

  “I’ve always been able to talk,” he yawned. “And unless you’d like, um, Ronald to be impounded, I’d suggest you stay off the main roads.”

  “No, you haven’t. I’ve had you for nearly a year and you’ve never uttered a word,” I argued, shifting into park and turning in my seat to face him.

  “Of course, I have. Just not to you.”

  “So, you’re a familiar,” I mused, ignoring, for the moment, his obvious insult. Could there be a silver lining in my big black cloud? Though not as powerful as witches, familiars had their own brand of magic. Magic could get me home. “Where’s your witch?”

  “I don’t have a witch,” Doyle growled. “And I’m not a familiar. Hell, I’m not even a cat.”

  “I beg to differ, Doyle.” I smirked. “Where I come from, if it looks like a cat, and meows like a cat, and licks its own balls, it’s a—”

  “It’s a wolf who pissed off a witch,” he snarled. “And my name is not Doyle.”

  “Okay, wolf in cat’s clothing, what is your name? And when did you plan to tell me the truth?” I crossed my arms over my chest and arched a brow.

  “I didn’t. I planned to simply disappear once we crossed into Kentucky, make my way home, and figure out another way to break the curse.” He looked away. “Since it’s obvious you’ll be lucky to find the passing lane, let alone another state, I figured I better speak up.”

  “Let me get this straight. I fished your bony ass from a dumpster, took you in, nursed you back to health, fed and sheltered you for an entire year when I sometimes didn’t know where my next meal was coming from, and you planned to abandon me without a word?”

  “Well, sure it sounds bad when you say it like that. Will it help if I say despite the absence of your fabled witch’s metabolism, and the eighteen-wheeler full of doughnuts you’ve consumed in the past twelve months, you still have a magnificent ass?” His gaze returned to mine, and I caught a flash of the wolf he claimed to be glinting in his eyes. Something warm and too long absent from my life curled in the pit of my stomach, and then moved lower.

  “It might,” I drawled. Then I froze in horror and stiffened in my seat. Doyle had been cohabitating with me for nearly twelve months. He’d shared my bed, watched me shower, witnessed my toileting habits, reclined at my feet when I overindulged and worshipped the porcelain god—all the time concealing the fact he was actually a man, a Shifter under a curse. Thank Goddess I’d been abstinent. Which is to say there hadn’t been any men, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t…Oh. My. Hell! Heat rushed into my cheeks as I reached across the seat and gave the carrier a good whack, knocking it sideways. “You voyeuristic douchewaffle!”

  “Would you believe I closed my eyes?” He chuckled.

  “You are a pig.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Buttercup. No such thing as a pig Shifter,” Doyle grunted as he struggled to find his footing in the confined, and now cockeyed, space. “In my defense, you spent the last year working, coming and going as you pleased, and interacting with people. I was stuck inside a very small apartment, forced to take care of business in a smelly box, and deprived of even the rudimentary elements of entertainment.”

  “What about that cute little catnip mouse I bought you? You played with it for hours.” I narrowed my eyes in his direction.

  “Seriously? That has to be the least productive waste of time I’ve ever spent.” He rolled his eyes. “But, it was very thoughtful of you, and I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. Look, you are a sexy, beautiful woman, and I was a bored and horny wolf. However, I’ll concede I could have been a little more respectful of your privacy. So, I apologize.”

  “Really?” The apology was unexpected and knocked the head right off of my steam. I guess I could see his point. It had to have been a mind-numbingly mundane existence. Wait. He thought I was beautiful and sexy? “My hair is purple.”

  “I’m hexed, not blind.” He cocked his little kitty head to the side. “It suits you. Though it does clash a little with your, uh…” The wolf, AKA pig in cat’s clothing, looked pointedly at the juncture of my thighs and my face heated anew. “Anyway, once your magic is restored, your natural color will return, right?”

  “Goddess willing. You do realize if you’d spoken up sooner, we could have avoided all of this awkwardness?” I sniffed, pressing my thighs together.

  “Given your low opinion of Shifters, if I’d spoken up sooner I would have found my furry butt on the cold, mean streets instead of curled up in a nice, warm bed with a gorgeous witch.”

  “What are you talking about? I don’t have a problem with Shifters. Generally.” I lowered my brows at Kitty Wolf. Did he say gorgeous? “With the exception of those who infringe upon my personal space and indulge in unauthorized peep shows related to my lady lumps and hoo-haw.”

  “I’ve already said I was sorry,” he said. “And any witch who chooses a year living as a mortal without magic over a date with a Shifter clearly has a problem. Don’t deny it. I was the one privy to all that snot-nosed caterwauling, remember?”

  “Oh that.” I dismissed his conclusion with a wave of my hand. “That had nothing to do with a Shifter problem, and everything to do with an authority problem. Just because a witch doesn’t get laid for a while is no reason to pull rank and order her to date.”

  “How long is a while?”

  “Not. The. Point.” I glared at my traveling companion. “And it was a conscious choice. In retrospect, I may have overreacted. Bringing Baba YomyGoddesswhatthehellareyouwearing’s wardrobe into the equation was clearly a mistake.”

  My cat, whose name was not Doyle, stared.

  “This Baba Yowhateveryoujustsaid… hair big enough to plug a leak in the Hoover Dam, a fabulous figure, and a clear and misguided addiction to leg warmers?”

  “Sounds about right. You know her?”

  “We’ve met,” he muttered. “Said her name was Carol, though.”

  “That’s her.” I nodded, and flipped the bird out the window at the guy behind me who laid on his horn. “Carol, AKA Baba Yaga, is the most powerful witch in the world.”

  “With a decided sensitivity to criticism of her attire,” came his wry response.

  “You didn’t!” I gasped.

  “You aren’t the only one with a little authority problem.”

  “But, what did you—”

  The horn blared again. I offered the culprit a five finger salute, conveniently forgetting to use four of my fingers, and shifted into gear.

  “We’d better get moving. Make a left,” Doyle directed.

  I hit the blinker, and tugged at the wheel.

  “Your other left,” he sighed. I glared at him, made the required adjustment, and eased off the brake. “Fortunately for both of us, I happen to have an excellent sense of direction. Get me out of this shoebox so I can navigate before we end up in San Francisco.”

  “Don’t be silly,” I admonished, reaching across the seat to unlatch and flip open the door. “We’re going left, and even I know San Francisco is up and to the right.”

  “We’ll be going right…I mean, west, soon enough,” he observed as he leapt atop the carrier, glanced at the map spread out on the seat, and then squinted through the windshield. “The back roads will take longer, but there’s less chance we’ll be stopped. Ronald is a ticket—or ten—waiting to happen.”

  “Hey, it was the best I could do!”
I protested.

  “Not criticizing, just being realistic.” Doyle yawned and stretched, sticking his tail twitching butt in the air. Then he plopped onto the top of the carrier. “Okay, straight through this light, then keep right at the next fork. Wake me up when we cross the state line.”

  “What do you mean, wake you up? You can’t sleep! We’re off the map. How am I supposed to know if we’re headed up, down, left, or right?”

  “Right at the fork, and follow the road until you hit the state line. Then wake me up and we’ll figure out the next leg. You can do it, Louella. It’s easy. I have faith in you.” Doyle winked, then curled in a ball, tucked his head under his back leg, and commenced snoring like trucker.

  “Just go straight, Louella. You can do it, Louella. I have faith, Louella,” I mocked in a scornful voice, wrinkling my nose. Did this cat not know me at all? Yeah, well he wouldn’t be so blasé when he opened his eyes and saw the Golden Gate Bridge. Wait a minute. Louella Ladyfern, Adjunct Professor in the Department of Healing Herbs and Medicinal Plants at Hemlock Hall Academy belonged to another world. For the past twelve months, I’d been plain old Ella Green, somewhat clumsy and barely employable. I hadn’t used my full name since leaving Hemlock Hollow. I wracked my brain trying to remember any occasion when I might have inadvertently slipped, but couldn’t think of a single instance. How did Doyle, the stray cat-pig-wolf Shifter know my real name?

  Chapter Four

  “Socks on a rooster!” I screeched, yanking hard on the wheel and skidding Ronald onto the slick, graveled shoulder of the road. The sharp and deliberate swerve sent snoozing Doyle, along with the pet carrier serving as his watchtower-car hammock, tumbling sideways to the floor. Banging the gearshift into park hard enough to nearly snap it off, I thumped my fist on the steering wheel and swallowed the sour fear rising in the back of my throat. What if I never found my way home?

  “Socks on a rooster serve no purpose,” the annoyed cat grumbled as he squeezed his body from beneath the crate and climbed onto the seat.

  “Exactly!” I groused. “They’re about as useful as tits on bull, and your concept of directions. Bear right, he says. You can do it, he says. It’s easy, he says. Have a look around, Doyle. Clearly, you misplaced your faith. Unless I miss my guess, we’re almost exactly where we started.”

  “Didn’t you bear right at the fork?”

  “Yes. And every forking fork thereafter. You might have mentioned there’d be more than one.”

  “There was only one. The rest were right turns, weren’t they?”

  “I don’t remember.” I squirmed in my seat. Doyle tipped his head back and stared at the stained and drooping headliner. He may have counted to ten. Then he sighed.

  “Rent’s paid through the end of the month, right? It’ll be dark soon. We could just go back to the apartment and try again tomorrow.”

  “No, we couldn’t. Any progress, no matter how minute, is progress. I refuse to admit defeat. I will pull off the road right here, and we will sleep in the car. Then we will try again tomorrow. Do you think you can stay awake next time?”

  “I’ll give it my best. What might appear to be apathy and indolence on my part is not my norm. It seems to be a cat thing, and is currently beyond my control.”

  “Sure, it is,” I muttered as I shifted back into gear and pulled completely off of the road and into the knee-high weeds beyond the shoulder. “Just like I have an awesome sense of direction.”

  “I admit, I may have underestimated your degree of cartographical incompetence. Sue me.” He hopped over the seat into the back, tail held high. “But, my predilection for long, leisurely, and annoyingly frequent and solitary naps? Definitely a side effect of my current predicament.”

  I turned off the ignition, and, after locking the doors, clambered over the seat behind him.

  “Yeah, right—” I snorted, and Doyle held up a paw.

  “Do you deny if you had your magic, getting home would be a piece of cake?” He asked.

  “Of course, it would. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “So, you’d like me to believe when you’re in full possession of your faculties, and unfettered by the consequences of a spell, you’re strong, competent, and equal to any challenge?”

  “Well, duh.” I arranged the pillows and comforter in the back of the station wagon wondering if I should offer to teach a course in witty repartee if I ever made it back home. Clearly, I had a gift. It was only right I share it with the next generation.

  “All righty, then.” He eased down beside me and curled against my thigh. Then he looked up at me with those big, green, kitty eyes. How had I never noticed they had such a cocky, knowing gleam before today? “While it’s a stretch, I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Therefore, I think it’s only fair you do the same for me.”

  “Fine. I will endeavor to believe when you are not hindered by your existence as a stray cat-pig-wolf Shifter named Doyle, you are clever and attentive.”

  “Sweetheart, once this spell is null and void, I’d be more than happy to show you exactly how clever and attentive I can be,” he purred, climbing onto my lap. “Now, about this dry spell of yours. Why don’t you tell kitty all about it?”

  “As if,” I snapped, shoving him away. “And get off of me.”

  “I always sit on your lap,” he countered, walking in circles next to me before finally plopping down with a grunt.

  “You always sat on my lap before I knew you were a wolf and a peeping Tom. And it isn’t a dry spell. I told you before, it was a deliberate choice.”

  “So, you aren’t interested in a relationship?”

  “I didn’t say that. But, I’ve had enough casual relationships to last several lifetimes. I want more. I want someone interested in me, not the way I fill out a pair of tight jeans, or my knowledge of magical horticulture. So, until that elusive, probably non-existent, someone comes along, I’m taking a little break. End of story.”

  “I completely get the allure of your form in a pair of tight jeans. But, how does your expertise in plants impact your love life?”

  “Not simply plants. Magical horticulture. Every plant has its own magical properties and can add power to any spell regardless of the strength of the witch. The right combination of florae can make or break a potion. It’s my specialty.” I shrugged.

  “Who was he?” Doyle tensed beside me, his voice low and tight.

  “Who was who?”

  “The shady bastard who said he loved you and turned out to be after nothing more than your rhododendrons?”

  “Oh, him,” I laughed, and reached out to scratch behind his ear, touched by the look of outrage on my cat’s face. “He wasn’t interested in rhododendrons, he wanted the secret to marigolds—a flower known for protection, success in business, and psychic powers. And because I was a fool, he got it. Thank Goddess, knowledge alone isn’t enough. Good, powerful white magic is dependent upon a benign intent when wielding it. Let’s just say it turned out he didn’t have a benevolent bone in his body.”

  “And thus disillusioned, you swore off men?” Doyle stretched languidly and inched closer, rubbing the side of his head against my thigh. Feaky snucker.

  “Not exactly. Just two-faced, narcissistic warlocks.”

  “I see.” He rolled over and I automatically scratched his tummy. Then I remembered he wasn’t actually a cat. I lowered my brows at his presumption, and snatched my hand away. “So what happened to the two-faced, narcissistic sonfoabitch?”

  “The Council of Witches tossed his duplicitous butt in the pokey.”

  “The pokey?” Doyle opened his eyes wide. “Witches have their own incarceration system?”

  “Of course. Witches who abuse magic are sent to Salem.”

  “I don’t imagine that particular location makes the top of a witch’s bucket list for summer vacations,” Doyle observed in dry tone.

  “Hardly,” I agreed. “I’ve never personally been there—thank Goddess—but su
pposedly the magical hoosegow is a converted hotel glamoured to look like a pleasant bed and breakfast—climbing ivy, colorful flowers, New England charm—you get the picture. Of course, it’s heavily warded with magic to keep nosy mortals and responsible practitioners of magic at a distance. Rumor has it the interior isn’t nearly as inviting. Also, the staff consists of a bunch of spooky witches and warlocks who are older than dirt. A rather cranky bunch, I hear.”

  “Can you blame them? Sounds like a fun place. So, how long is the douche-canoe in for?”

  “Couple of decades. In fact, I haven’t thought about him for so long, I just realized he’s probably out. Fortunately, I haven’t heard a word from him. Guess he forgot that pesky little promise to get even.”

  “Couple of decades?” Doyle sat bolt upright. “You’ve been celibate for a couple of decades?”

  “Witches live a long time. A couple of decades isn’t so long in the greater scheme of things,” I retorted through stiff lips.

  “A decade is a decade by any standard,” he growled. “No wonder your Bobo Yahoo decided it was time to intervene.”

  “It’s Baba Yaga, and I think you mean interfere.”

  “Whatever. Did it ever occur to you it might be less about pulling rank, and more about encouraging you to climb back in the saddle? You’d sworn off warlocks, so maybe she took advantage of the Council’s current interest in magical alliances to find you a Shifter, instead. Isn’t it possible she just wanted to see you happy?”

  “I had everything I needed. While the Fates have yet to get it right for me in the relationship department, they’ve been very generous in terms of my career. I love my research. I have wonderful, curious students. I’d just written a grant proposal to study of the effect of hydroponic gardening on magical herbs. I was happy.”

  “Were you, Ella?” Doyle asked quietly. The way my name rolled off of his tongue made my toes curl. Which was ridiculous because he was…well, he was a cat. I couldn’t be attracted to a cat. Except a wolf Shifter, a man, temporarily indisposed, lurked inside that mangy feline body. All these months he’d born his punishment in silence, and with far more patience and dignity than I ever had. A girl couldn’t help but be a little impressed. I wondered if Baba would consider exchanging the Shifter the Fates chose for this one. Unless, of course, Doyle turned out to look like Lucky Leon. I’d never considered myself superficial, but I did have standards. The car salesman made my skin crawl, and not in a good way.