Every Witch Way but Wicked

by Barbra Annino

  “I see him. He’s ahead of us,” Mara yelled, and started to run. Stacy followed, hand on her dagger, past the fallen trick-or-treaters.

  As they darted through the parade route, Stacy saw the shadowy Mr. Henderson touch someone briefly. As he did, he pulled a glowing, filmy substance from the person’s body and stuffed it into his coat pocket.

  “Is that what I think it is?!” Stacy asked, shocked.

  Mara spoke rapidly as she ran. “Those are the souls he’s stealing for the Soul Eater. We can’t let him get back to the B&B. Gus won’t be able to take on both the Soul Stealer and the Soul Eater by himself. And once the Soul Eater is fed …”

  “Hell on earth. Got it,” Stacy said, quickly drawing the dagger out of its sheath and accidentally lopping a jack-o-lantern head off a store display. Pumpkin guts splattered through the girls’ astral bodies and onto the sidewalk.

  *

  Outside the park festival, they finally caught up to Mr. Henderson. At first, he looked shocked to see Stacy.

  Then he sneered. “You can’t touch me, Seeker. I am not bound to this plane.” His lip curled over his teeth, exposing yellowed fangs. “But I can touch you.”

  As he reached out to her, Stacy took a deep breath, focused all her belief into the dagger and swung it over her head to cast a circle of protection. Then she sliced it right through Henderson’s arm.

  Stacy felt a moment of panic, thinking that it hadn’t worked. His arm was still attached, as if she had never cut him. But when he touched her … nothing happened.

  The Soul Stealer looked down at his hand, perplexed for a few beats. It was limp.

  While the Soul Stealer was distracted, Mara jumped at the opportunity. With her crystal wand, she snagged souls from the Stealer’s pocket as fast as she could, flinging them into the wind with an incantation to send them home.

  “You will pay for that. You will both pay!” His face twisted in rage. “You think you’ve won, but I only need one soul to bring Him forth.”

  He threw a handful of powder on the ground and the flash momentarily blinded both Stacy and Mara.

  “Fiona!” Stacy cried as they coughed and struggled through the smoke.

  Once they could see again, Henderson was gone.

  “Back to the B&B. That’s the only place he could have gone,” Mara said.

  Stacy grabbed Mara and focused on the B&B.

  When they materialized in Mr. Henderson’s room, he was chanting and swaying over Gus, who was pinned to the floor by an invisible force, the sword just out of his reach.

  “You’re too late,” the Soul Stealer announced, sensing their presence.

  “Wrong, shitbag,” Gus said, pulling the words out from deep within him. His fingers reached, stretching themselves to the breaking point, but were just short.

  Stacy drew her dagger and approached Mr. Henderson from one end of the vortex. Mara circled from the other side, a tight grip on her wand.

  Mr. Henderson chanted faster, sweat pouring down his face. But the work the coven was doing in the basement was interfering with his attempt to destroy Gus and pull the Soul Eater through the vortex.

  Mr. Henderson grabbed Fiona’s soul from his pocket and gave the women a menacing look.

  “Fiona!” Stacy cried.

  “Don’t come any closer!” he shouted. “Or I drop her in the vortex for the Soul Eater to consume.”

  While he was focused on Stacy, Mara lunged and snatched Fiona’s soul with her wand. But as she did, Mr. Henderson grabbed Mara with his good hand, and lifted her in the air. He dangled her spirit over the abyss like a rag doll.

  “I think the Soul Eater will like you even better.” Mr. Henderson laughed, in a hollow, booming voice.

  Mara squeaked, hurling Fiona’s spirit and the wand to Stacy. “Take her back to the coven! Hurry!”

  Stacy caught the wand, the filmy gossamer pulsating on the crystal. “I can’t leave you!”

  “You have to!” Mara gasped as she struggled against Mr. Henderson. “Use the wand to get Fiona’s soul back in her body.”

  Stacy closed her eyes and focused on the gathering in the basement. She recalled the incantation Mara had used at the park and she started chanting it under her breath. When she opened her eyes, Fiona’s body was on the floor in front of her, slumped over, unconscious.

  “He’s got Mara and Gus!” Stacy screamed. “They need more power!” Then Stacy used the wand to fling the shimmery gossamer web at her aunt’s chest. Fiona stirred, color and warmth rushing into her skin. But Mara’s and Gus’s bodies were starting to turn blue.

  Stacy was dizzy, but she had to concentrate for one last astral trip. She had to go back for Mara and Gus.

  Henderson’s room fizzled into focus, but just barely. Stacy could see Mara punching and biting and kicking Henderson as he throttled her. He seemed to be enjoying the challenge, but when Stacy made it all the way through, into his room, he growled and lifted Mara high over the gaping, bubbling black vortex.

  “No!” Stacy screamed.

  Mr. Henderson let go, laughing.

  Stacy leapt over the vortex. The force of her charge knocked Mara from the center of the vortex and sent her flying across the room.

  As Stacy landed on the other side of the vortex, she plunged her dagger into Mr. Henderson’s stomach.

  The ephemeral blade shimmered, then flashed like a lightning jolt as it entered him.

  He stumbled, then laughed maniacally. “You can’t hurt me, Seeker. I am immortal.”

  “You have to sever the connection!” Mara yelled.

  “What?!” As Stacy evaded the Soul Stealer, she kicked the sword towards Gus’s outstretched hand.

  As soon as his fingers closed around the sword’s hilt, Gus was able to throw off the enchantment that the Soul Stealer had laid on him. He roared up off the floor and yelled, “Cut his head off!”

  Gus let out a warrior yell as he aimed at Henderson’s neck. Then in one sweep, he leapt in a twisting motion and sliced the sword right through Henderson’s spinal column, and landed on his feet.

  Stacy halfway expected blood and tissue and body fluids to spurt from Henderson, but that’s not at all what the three of them saw.

  What they saw was a white light, like a fourth of July sparkler, popping out from every angle.

  Then Mr. Henderson’s body slumped to the floor, unconscious, and the vortex immediately sucked into itself and disappeared.

  Stacy, Mara and Gus looked at each other and then they were forcibly yanked out of the room and back to the basement.

  *

  The three of them spluttered back to consciousness, to see Birdie dumping out pitchers of ice water on them.

  “Knock it off,” Stacy snapped.

  Lolly grinned. “Good to have you back, toots. You three took long enough.”

  Birdie interrupted. “Did you finish it?”

  Stacy nodded.

  Fiona yawned and sat up. “I’m starving. Who wants coffee and pumpkin pie?”

  Lolly giggled and hugged her sister.

  Mara, Stacy and Gus looked at each other, then got up and raced up the stairs to check on their conquest.

  Mr. Henderson was laying on the floor, where they had left him, sound asleep.

  The three of them backed out of the room and quietly closed the door. The hallway was back to it’s original state. The room number read two.

  *

  Mr. Henderson came down early the next morning, disconcerted and unsure of where he was and how he had arrived there. The only thing he wanted to do was to go home. So Mara, Stacy and Gus helped packed up his clothes and got rid of his magical accoutrements – which he didn’t seem to remember as belonging to him, anyway – and then Birdie shipped him off in a taxi.

  The daily paper carried a story of how a number of trick-or-treaters must have gotten hold of some contaminated cider. After spending the night in the hospital, they had all been released, healthy as ever.

  As Mara and Gus packed, Fiona hap
pily cooked up a feast with Birdie. The entire coven was going to come over for a thank-you lunch. It would have been dinner, but since Mara and Gus had a long drive ahead of them, it was bumped up to lunch, so they could stay for it. Afterward, Mara and Gus left the Geraghty Girls’ B&B amid hugs and laughter.

  As Mara was about to get in the car, Stacy ran up and gave her a small statue of a Great Dane that looked just like Thor.

  “So you always remember us!” Stacy whispered in Mara’s ear as Mara hugged her.

  “As if I could ever forget!” Mara whispered back.

  Suddenly, Stacy lurched forward and then tripped, falling into Mara.

  Mara caught her and laughed. “I think Grundleshanks and Aunt Tillie are trying to say goodbye.”

  “Your aunt…!” Stacy shook her head in exasperation.

  “I know,” Mara said. “She’ll be the death of all of us. But hopefully, not today!”

  And as easily as that, the two witches cemented their friendship, forming a bond that would last a lifetime—and beyond.

  The End

  About Christiana Miller

  Christiana Miller is a novelist, screenwriter and mom who’s led an unusual life. In addition to writing for General Hospital: Night Shift and General Hospital, she’s had her DNA shot into space (where she’s currently cohabiting in a drawer with Stephen Colbert and Stephen Hawking), and she’s been the voices of all the female warriors in Mortal Kombat II and III. If her life was a TV show, it would be a wacky dramedy filled with eccentric characters who get themselves into bizarre situations. Miller’s first novel, Somebody Tell Aunt Tillie She’s Dead, is available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iTunes, Diesel, Smashwords. Check out her website at: www.christianamiller.com or like her author page on Facebook. You can also find her on Twitter at @writechristiana.

  About Barbra Annino

  Barbra Annino writes the Stacy Justice mystery series. If you like your fiction served with a helping of funny and a smattering of quirky characters, check out OPAL FIRE, BLOODSTONE and the upcoming TIGER’S EYE at Barnes and Noble or Amazon. She also has a collection of short stories including the popular Gnome Wars. For more information, visit her on the web at her website, on Facebook, Twitter or email her.

  CATS AND DOGS

  by

  JL Bryan

  “Did he eat anything unusual?” the vet asked. The vet’s bushy white eyebrows like cotton balls, which were a little high on his forehead, gave him the look of being surprised at all times.

  “Not that I know of,” Sadie said. She petted Domino on the head. The golden lab mix didn’t even raise his head from the exam table.

  “Vomiting?” the vet asked. “Any other sign of illness?”

  “Nothing like that. He just lays around quietly. He used to get crazy and cheerful every time I walked in the door. Or when I poured his food. Now he’s just not interested.”

  The vet shook his head. “There’s nothing wrong with him medically. The tests came back negative for everything.”

  “Then what’s the problem?” Sadie asked.

  “I can’t find one,” the vet said. “Just keep watching him for any symptoms.”

  “Thanks,” Sadie said. That was a waste of three hundred bucks, she thought.

  She walked Domino out to the car. He moved lethargically, as he’d been doing for more than a week. She had to physically lift him into the passenger seat of her bright yellow truck. He wasn’t elderly, and according to the vet, he wasn’t sick, but clearly something was wrong with him. He used to leap up into the truck wagging his tail and ready for adventure.

  She walked around to the driver’s side door. The stenciled text on the door read ATLANTIC LOCKSMITH: RESIDENTIAL / COMMERCIAL. Her father had picked the name ‘Atlantic’ for his shop so that it would be among the first in the phonebook. It wasn’t much of an advantage in the age of the Internet, though.

  She climbed inside.

  “Ready to go for a ride, Domino?” Sadie asked.

  He flicked his tail once, without much enthusiasm.

  She drove him home. Her house was narrow but three stories high, located in a tree-lined neighborhood that was nearly as old as the city of Savannah itself. It had been in her family for generations, but now Sadie lived there alone, since her father had passed several years ago and her mom had decided to move into a retirement community on the Gulf Coast.

  She let Domino off his leash as soon as they were inside the picket fence. He peed on a rose bush by the front walk, and slowly climbed the steps to the front door.

  Inside, she fed both Domino and her chubby, longhaired black cat, Elektra. When the afternoon cooled to evening, she took the dog for their usual walk along the sidewalk. They went four blocks, then turned back.

  On the way home, she passed Mrs. Bartleby working in her garden. Lots of the neighbors disliked Mrs. Bartleby because of her excessive yard art—windmills, a giant bug welded from old gardening tools, countless birdhouses that stayed crowded with chirping winged visitors all year.

  “Hi there!” Mrs. Bartleby said, as chipper as the birds and squirrels scampering all around her. Her long gray hair swirled in the breeze. “How’s little Domino?”

  “Not great,” Sadie said. “He’s acting sick, but the vet says nothing’s wrong.”

  “Oh, dear.” Mrs. Bartleby opened her wrought-iron gate and patted Domino’s head while she knelt beside him. Domino’s tail swished a couple of times, the biggest sign of life he’d given all day. “What’s wrong with you, little fellow? Are you sad?”

  Sadie was beginning to wish she hadn’t said anything. Mrs. Bartleby was crazy about animals.

  “Has anything happened to upset him?” Mrs. Bartleby asked.

  “No, just our usual routine.”

  “Hmm.” She looked Domino in the eyes. “Sometimes they tell you what’s wrong … if you listen close enough.”

  “He hasn’t said a word,” Sadie joked, but Mrs. Bartleby didn’t even give the joke a polite smile.

  “There may be problems that veterinarians aren’t trained to see,” Mrs. Bartleby said.

  “I’m sure he’ll be fine. Come on, Domino, stop bugging the neighbors.”

  “Oh, he’s not any trouble at all, are you, little guy?” Mrs. Bartleby stood up. “I do hope he feels better.”

  “He will. Won’t you, Domino?”

  Domino didn’t respond.

  “Have a nice day, Mrs. Bartleby,” Sadie said.

  “You, too, dear.”

  Sadie hurried Domino along. Back at home, he sat on the couch next to the snoring cat and watched Sadie do her yoga video. Sadie made herself a salad. She took a long, quiet bath, with Handel playing softly on the stereo. Then she went to bed.

  Monday morning, she was back at work, designing a set of ornate locks for a big old mansion on Abercorn Street. She’d inherited the shop and the trade from her father. When she was a little girl, she’d watched him, fascinated as he took locks apart and put them back together. She’d thought he solved puzzles for a living, and it looked like a great job.

  She closed early to take care of a service call, a man who’d locked himself out of his car at the grocery store.

  She’d only been home long enough to feed her pets when the doorbell rang. Sadie sighed to see her eccentric neighbor from down the street.

  “Hello, Mrs. Bartleby,” Sadie said as she opened the door. She hoped the lady wasn’t here to ask more questions about Domino, who hadn’t improved at all.

  “Hi, dear! How is your dog?”

  “Oh, still a little mopey. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

  “Goodness. Well, I’ll be out of town for a couple of weeks, and I was hoping I could bribe you to keep my birdhouses filled. The birds do depend on their feed.”

  “I’m not sure–”

  “I can just leave the seed bags on the front porch,” Mrs. Bartleby said. “I don’t think anyone would steal birdseed, do you?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Just refill t
hem a couple of times,” Mrs. Bartleby said. She held out what looked like a dozen large peanut butter cookies, wrapped in cellophane. “There are cookies in it for you.”

  “Oh … I’m trying to avoid carbs, but thank you. I’ll feed the birds, though.”

  “These cookies won’t hurt.” Mrs. Bartleby pressed them into Sadie’s hand. “They’re kinship cookies.”

  “Friendship cookies?”

  “Kinship. They bring people together. And animals. They might help you understand your dog better.”

  Sadie just stared at her, thinking that old Mrs. Bartleby might have crossed the line from ‘eccentric’ to ‘crazy’.

  “Just eat one a day, no more,” Mrs. Bartleby said. “Then see if you can’t sort out what’s ailing poor Domino.”

  “Okay … thanks.” Sadie forced a smile. “I’m sure they’re delicious.”

  “Oh, they are. But the taste won’t be as rewarding as the sensitivity you’ll have to your dog’s needs.”

  “Right,” Sadie said. The conversation seemed to have backed into a corner. “Well, thanks again.”

  “You won’t forget my birds, will you?” Mrs. Bartleby asked.

  “No, ma’am.”

  “I do appreciate it so much.” Mrs. Bartleby said.

  “Have a nice trip.”

  “I certainly will, knowing my birds are in the care of an animal lover like you.”

  Sadie smiled and nodded while the old lady walked away, then she locked her front door and headed for the kitchen.

  “Well, I think she’s gone certifiable, Domino,” Sadie said. The dog didn’t even look up as Sadie stepped over him to place the cookies on the kitchen counter.

  She didn’t eat any of the cookies. She did make herself a quick spinach and mushroom omelet, then she ate alone in front of the TV and went to bed early.

  The next day, she was kept late at work by a sluggish middle-aged man who spent almost two hours deciding between two small, nearly identical office safes. While he deliberated—pausing frequently to regale Sadie about his struggles with irritable bowel syndrome—she could only think of poor Domino at home. He was probably hungry, in desperate need of a pee, and wondering where Sadie was.