by Linda Wisdom
Blair stared at her best friend in amazement. Anastasia Romanov was known for her sweet, romantic temperament and calm, almost placid, demeanor. Right now she looked ready to go off into a major witchy hissy fit, as evidenced by those angry bubbles. This was not the Stasi she’d known for more than seven hundred years! Stasi hiccupped and two more bubbles floated into the room.
“Now isn’t the time to get the hiccups! Take a breath,” Blair ordered, running a hand through her dark auburn curls. “And tell me what is going on. Slowly!”
Stasi closed her eyes, hiccupped again (three bubbles this time), and pulled in a deep breath, then another. When she opened them, she looked a bit calmer. And when she hiccupped again, only one tiny bubble slipped out. Blair relaxed a little.
“Carrie Anderson is suing me for alienation of affection. She’s claiming it’s my fault her rotten husband didn’t come back.” Dark purple sparks shot out over her head.
“Stasi, you need to calm down!” Blair said firmly. She glanced at the front door and promptly set a stay out spell on it. The last thing she needed was someone walking in to find customers playing Statue and Stasi shooting off magickal sparks. “Everyone knows Carrie’s totally delusional about things.” Blair glanced at the papyrus. “Why would she sue you for alienation of affection?”
Stasi’s golden brown eyes glittered with unshed tears that had more to do with fury than sorrow. “She’s claiming that I did something to the sachet I tucked into her package that made sure her cheating, lower-than-scum husband wouldn’t return to her and that by giving her a charm that harmed her marriage I interfered in mortal affairs. The ‘cheating and lower-than-scum’ description is mine. She’s claiming he’s the love of her life and she just knows he would have come back to her if I hadn’t done something horrible to make sure he wouldn’t return. He’s, what, her fourth husband? It’s a well-known fact that every man she’s been with has been driven to cheat on her! And I’ve never made a claim that the sachets I put in the bags do anything. I make it sound like a joke that they inspire romance, and the customers love it. And it’s not as though I can do much more than that, anyway. If I did, Cupid would be on my butt faster than a flea.”
“Oh yeah, he’s real protective of his job and doesn’t like anyone interfering in his field,” Blair agreed.
“Like most of the people in town, Carrie knows I’m a witch and she thinks my romance sachet should have brought Kevin back to her.” Stasi crossed her arms in front of her chest, a full pout on her lips. “So now she’s mad at me and wants vengeance. To top it off, she somehow persuaded a top wizard lawyer to file suit against me in Wizards’ Court!”
“It can’t be done. It has to be prosecuted in Witches’ Court.” Blair wasn’t an attorney, but over the centuries she’d learned more than she liked about witch law.
Stasi shook her head. “Obviously it can, if that bottom-feeding wizard lawyer took the case and filed it. It would be bad enough if she’d hired that one that’s on the late night paranormal channel. Herve Rovenal will take any case to defend innocent mortals from the ones who prey on them. But she hired Trevor Barnes!” Her lip curled as she glared at the parchment again. This time a thin wisp of smoke curled up from its surface but was quickly snuffed out—not by Stasi, but by the parchment itself.
“We can’t discuss it here,” Blair said. She checked the black Kit-Kat clock hanging on the wall. “It’s almost closing time anyway. I’ll herd these people out once I’ve unfrozen them and we’ll see what’s going on. Okay?”
Stasi nodded. “They’ll have another thing coming if they think I’ll put up with this insanity,” she muttered, hopping off the counter. “It’s not my fault that Carrie’s husband left her! Kevin used to be a nice guy, and she treated him like dirt. I’ll make her sorry she started this.” She marched to the door, which opened and closed behind her without her hand touching it or the brass bell hanging over it making a sound.
Blair quickly unfroze her customers, made a sale to a bewildered woman, and ushered the rest out before they realized what was happening.
“Girlfriend’s got a problem,” Felix, the black Kit-Kat clock Blair had owned since the 1930s, announced from his spot high up on the wall. His large eyes swept from side to side as his tail swung back and forth above a sign proclaiming him Not for Sale.
“No kidding.” Blair emptied the old-fashioned cash register that had once resided in Moonstone Lake’s general store back in the mid-1800s and tucked the checks, cash, and coins into a bank bag. With the spell surrounding the bag, no thief would dare try to steal it unless he wanted his hands covered in nasty itching powder that wouldn’t disappear for years. Blair Fitzpatrick took her revenge spells seriously and did the utmost to protect her assets. No shoplifter would get away without some serious pain.
“You’re going to tell me all in the morning, right?” Felix asked, always eager to learn any new gossip that cropped up out of his range.
“Good night, Felix.” Blair blew him a kiss as she headed for the front door. Judging from the sounds overhead, Stasi was upstairs creating havoc.
From Hex in High Heels
“You turned them into teenagers?” Jake Harrison howled, which sounded eerily like his Were–Border Collie self, even though this morning he was deliciously human. He was lounging in a red vinyl and chrome chair by the 1950s diner table on display in the back of the vintage shop, long legs stretched out comfortably. Dressed in his usual faded jeans and flannel shirt, Jake’s shaggy black hair was in need of a trim and his black eyes were bright with laughter. One hand rested idly on the Select-O-Matic jukebox on the table, while the other held a paper cup filled with coffee. The rich scent of cinnamon mocha filled the air.
“They were lucky that’s all I did to them. And let me tell you, there’s nothing scarier than trophy wives suddenly reverting to pimply face, original nose, stringy hair teens. Not one of them was a cute kid, either. All of their so-called natural beauty came from a surgeon’s knife, hairdresser’s skill, and make-up.” Blair Fitzpatrick stood a short distance away, studying with satisfaction the primary colors adorning the walls of her shop, Blast from the Past. She specialized in selling vintage items and liked to make her shop bright and welcoming to tempt customers inside. But what really revved her engines was the way Jake was looking at her, with a dark gaze that held more than a hint of hunger. Yep, Jake was the one who really stirred her hormonal cauldron.
“Some people just don’t understand that my gifts are meant for the greater good.” She sat down across from him and sipped the caramel latte Jake had brought her that morning.
He grinned at her. “Oh yeah, anyone can see that revenge spells are for the greater good.”
“You craft the right spell, and husbands and boyfriends think twice about cheating on their women. A woman who’s illegally run up a man’s credit card suddenly finds the bill in her name, or worse.” She absently touched her curly, dark auburn hair to make sure her ’40s updo was still in place. Each week Blair took the time to decorate the shop in a different theme. This week was the 1940s and she was dressed accordingly. “Two small examples.”
“It’s a good reminder never to piss you off.”
Blair rested her chin on her hand and studied his silky black hair and lean, rough-hewn features. In human form, Jake was one hot-looking guy; and even in dog form, any woman would want to adopt him. But she knew she could look into his dark eyes all day and never see all that was within. Jake had kept his Were nature secret for a long time and even now, despite her witchy senses, she couldn’t detect a hint of Canis lupus familiaris. That didn’t stop her from gazing at his mouth and imagining it on hers, or his hands running over her body or… wowza! Was it hot in here or was she having a hot flash? “I have to say, you’d come out pretty good even as a toad or a warthog.”
“Blair!” A young woman’s voice echoed through the archway separating Blair’s shop from fellow witch Stasi’s lingerie boutique, Isn’t It Romantic. “It’s Horace a
gain.”
“‘It’s only for three days,’ she says,” Blair grumbled, rising to her feet. “‘Trev’s taking me away for a romantic long weekend. Ashley will watch the shop, so no worries there,’ she assures me. If Stasi wanted no worries, she should have taken Horace with her. But I suppose her wizard boyfriend wouldn’t be too keen on that. Not that I blame him.” She walked through the archway into the neighboring shop. A moment later a multi-colored spike of light flashed between the shops, and Horace the gargoyle’s yelp of pain was heard. Blair returned, rubbing her hands in a gesture of a job well done.
“Stasi only tells me no!” the gargoyle yelled after her.
“Yeah, well, I’m in charge now.”
Jake glanced at Felix, the Kit-Kat clock on the wall, and stood up, pulling on his fleece-lined denim jacket. “You’re going?” she protested.
“Agnes asked me to replace some boards in their front fence and I promised to do it today.”
“And you decided to do it while she’s at her hair appointment,” she guessed.
He nodded. “Floyd, I can handle,” he said, naming the town’s mayor. “But Agnes seems to feel she should be out there supervising, when she doesn’t know a thing about carpentry. Plus that heavy stuff she calls perfume makes me sneeze. With luck, I’ll be done before she gets back. I’ll see you later.” With a wave of his hand he was gone.
Blair resisted to the urge to let her own inner teenager peek out the window and watch him walk down the street.
While she and Jake had become closer since the dramatic events of last Samhain, they still weren’t as close as she’d hoped. She knew the man was interested. He stopped by just to chat a couple of times a week and often brought her favorite latte and muffins with him. Who could resist a man who brought her something that, in her mind, was better than roses?
Every so often Jake still showed up as his Were–Border Collie alter ego, and while Blair complained about the shedding—things could be worse.
She stared at the colorful flyer announcing the upcoming annual Winter Carnival, sponsored by a nearby resort. The town of Moonstone Lake was gearing up for attracting the tourists. Maybe the carnival preparations would provide the opportunity she’d been waiting for to pull Jake closer.
From Demons are a Girl’s Best Friend
“Oh yeah, just another Saturday night hitting the clubs, watching the dancers, feeling blood stream out of my ears.” Maggie O’Malley winced as Static-X’s “Destroyer” screamed from the state-of-the-art speakers embedded in the club’s walls. Still, she couldn’t stop her hips from moving to the throbbing music. If she wasn’t there on business, she would have been out there dancing. “Why don’t you just shoot me now?”
“Any females get naked yet?” the voice of Frebus, one of her team members, rumbled from the mic in her ear. “It’s only a matter of time ’til somebody gets caught up in the moment and starts tearing off their clothes. You gotta love shape-shifters cuz they’re always the first to get down and dirty.”
Maggie played idly with the crystal earring that dangled almost to her bare shoulders. She considered her jewelry a much better look for a mic and earpiece than the usual spy gear. If only she could mute the music for an hour. Or ten.
“Sorry, sweetie, I’m only seeing half naked, but think positive. The evening’s still young.” She grinned as she heard the low groan in her ear. Frebus and her other backups, Meech and Tita, were strategically placed around the interior, on the lookout for one particular degenerate in the sea of questionable characters.
She made her way through the hordes of glassy-eyed, gyrating dancers, skillfully avoiding the groping hands on her ass and breasts. She muttered a spell against any who returned for another feel. Nothing like a magickal zap to the genitals to spoil the mood. Judging from the yelps that followed her, at least five tried.
Maggie didn’t believe in giving anyone a second chance.
She viewed the large, creature-populated underground club with an expression of distaste and the desire for her olfactory senses to be on the fritz.
“Haven’t some of these guys ever heard of deodorant?” she muttered, passing one scaly creature that fell in the “totally gross” category. It peered at her through red-slitted eyes and hissed, its forked tongue flicking toward her. Maggie hissed back and moved on.
The club’s name, Damnation Alley, fit the interior with its glossy black walls, black glass bars with the interiors pulsing with ice-blue and black lights casting an unearthly glow on the preternaturals thronging the interior. Any unlucky human who managed to get past the door ran the risk of exiting in a body bag—or someone’s stomach.
She’d planned to spend tonight with a bowl of popcorn and DVDs at home, but one of her team members got word that a fugitive they’d been after for the past month would be at the club tonight. Maggie and her team were sent here to bring it in.
She locked gazes with a vampire she remembered going up against a year earlier. He flashed fang. She responded with a smile that promised a repeat of what had happened before. The vamp wisely turned away.
At first glance, Maggie looked like a typical party gal in her barely there black skirt and bandeau top. Shiny silver glitter accents covered the fabric that bared her shoulders and taut midriff, and only she knew of the protective spells woven into the fabric.
A dazzling, diamond-encrusted black widow spider with ruby eyes was tattooed on one bicep. Dangerous bling. Don’t leave home without it. She’d slicked back her chin-length pale blonde hair with glittery gel, knowing that it made her features seem sharper than usual tonight. She smiled at one man who focused his attention on her legs and her black stilettos.
Maggie believed in themes, and tonight’s was dangerous sexy female on the prowl. The better to destroy you with, my dear.
She cast her senses wide, searching for her prey. Her gaze skittered to a halt when it reached a man standing in the doorway leading to the private rooms.
A few inches taller than her almost six feet, he was also dressed in black, but he didn’t look like the typical clubgoer. The silk shirt and slacks looked well tailored and suited his tanned skin, dark eyes, and spiked hair. He oozed danger. Judging by the hungry looks women were directing his way, they didn’t mind the danger part at all.
Maggie didn’t miss that most of the females were much more generously endowed than she was. She normally didn’t mind her slender athletic figure, but sometimes she’d like to have enough to fill more than a middling B cup.
No time to play, pretty boy. Maggie’s got other creatures to fry. But stick around, and maybe we can fit in a dance later on.
What a concept. Your everyday witch having an evening out where she could flirt with a gorgeous guy, get in some dancing, and just talk. When was the last time she’d had a date? Did she have enough fingers and toes to count back that far?
She purposely looked away until her gaze slammed into an odd-looking creature standing at the rear bar.
“Okay, that thing is butt ugly.” Maggie noted the bloated body dressed in rags. She was positive he wouldn’t smell all that good, either. Not that the smell seemed to bother those around him.
“Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder, blondie,” Meech’s disembodied voice reminded her. She caught a glimpse of the big, blue-skinned monster on the other side of the room, guarding a side door. He was grinning as his voice continued through the mic. “While some think you’re smokin’, all I see is that you’re damn scrawny, your nose is out of place, and those pearly whites aren’t jagged enough. Plus, they’re not healthy unless they’re gray or yellow.”
“Aw, baby, you know just what to say to make a girl feel good about herself.” She took a quick glance down to make sure the girls were at their best advantage. Nothing like giving a perp something to look at while she took him down.
Not that anyone around here would notice. They’d just think it was another S and M show. Another thing Damnation Alley was known for. Although at present she wasn’t se
eing the kind of sex shows that had gone on here when Ratchet owned the club.
“Oh, Frebus, you bring me to the classiest of places,” she purred.
“Better than that tavern two months ago. Plus, this one needs to be put down quick before he causes any more trouble. Him being here tonight is pure luck for us.”
“Just stay on alert in case I need backup. Bloaters aren’t the type to go quietly.” Maggie put her hips to work as she glided over to the bar. She could feel the dark-haired man’s eyes on her with a searing intensity, but she kept him on the back burner.
“Hi.” She flashed her sultriest smile at her quarry.
The creature looked up, revealing a puce-colored fleshy face, round chartreuse eyes, and a dark slit for a mouth.
“You are witch.” He looked at her from the top of her head to the tips of her shoes.
“No one’s perfect.” She rested an arm on the bar top, acting as if the putrid stench emanating from his skin didn’t assault her nose. “Buy me a drink?”
“Witches do not drink maiden grog.” His gray claws wrapped around a clay goblet.
“The main element in the grog is a virgin’s urine,” Tita whispered in her earpiece.
Maggie’s smile didn’t slip even as her brain screamed euuwwww!
“You’d be surprised what I drink.” She cocked a delicate brow. “They have private rooms here.” She ran a scarlet polished nail over his claws while moving forward enough to brush her breasts against his arm.
At the same time that the creature’s gaze fastened on her bare skin, she whipped iron-laced restraints out and slapped them on his wrists.
“You bitch!”
“Aw, now you’re just sweet talking me.”
The Bloater roared, rearing back and striking her with his chained claws, sending her sailing onto the top of the bar.
Maggie didn’t have time to react, finding herself thrown down the slippery slab. Drinks scattered everywhere, and earsplitting shrieks rose above the din. As she slid to a stop, she saw her quarry trying to escape, scrambled to her feet, and ran after him while others tried to stop her.