Magic and Mayhem: Witches Be Crazy (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Stacy Justice Magical Mysteries Book 0)

by Barbra Annino

  “Is she for real?” Miss 1980s perm asked, her eyes grazing past me.

  Behind me, Birdie said, “Stacy I would like you to meet an old friend.”

  Relief and confusion hit me at once. Relief that I didn’t have a spirit to guide home. Confusion why anyone would choose her wardrobe from Madonna’s old closet.

  The woman scoffed. “Old friend. That’s an understatement.”

  Birdie stepped forward, flicked a disapproving glance at the woman, and said, “Carol this is my granddaughter, Stacy.” She turned to me, her flowing skirt moving with the grace of a dancer. “Stacy, meet Carol.”

  I stuck my hand out and Carol shook it like I had just been handling raw meat.

  I said, “I’m so sorry. I thought, I mean, you…. um, the thing is, well…” My eyes scanned Carol’s attire. How could I explain that I thought she was dead?

  Birdie rolled her eyes skyward.

  Carol cocked her head at my grandmother and said, “Really? This is the famous Seeker I’ve been hearing about?”

  That got my attention. Very few knew who I was. Aside from my family and the Irish council that appointed my role, that is. Who was this woman? And what did she want? I was getting a sinking feeling about this. Like I was standing on a railway with a train approaching and a guy sporting a handlebar mustache stood behind me holding a rope.

  “I assure you she is everything you’ve heard about and more. May I remind you, Carol, that you came to me, remember?”

  Carol made a face at my grandmother and crossed her arms. “Why don’t you call me by my priestess name, Birdie? You know it irks me when you don’t use it.”

  “Because it’s a stupid name, that’s why.”

  Carol said, “Oh and Seeker is so clever, right? Please.” Carol buffed a press-on nail across her fishnet tights. I wondered if she had parachute pants. I heard they had lots of zippers and pockets. “Besides, it’s not like I made it up. Came with the title.”

  Now we were getting somewhere. What kind of title? More importantly, what did it have to do with me? More important than that—did I give a fairy’s fart?

  “Come on Birdie, say it just once for old times’ sake,” nudged Carol. The woman was half Birdie’s age. What history could they have possibly shared?

  “Fine. Baba Yaga. Happy?” Birdie smirked.

  She was right about one thing. That was a pretty awful name.

  I sighed and walked towards the door. “Well, this has been fun, ladies and I’d love to stick around, but I don’t want to. There is a hot man waiting to take me on a romantic getaway and I just remembered I have legs.”

  Birdie said, “Stop. Wait one minute. Carol, er, Baba needs your help, Stacy.”

  Dammit. I knew it. I freaking knew it. Against my will, my legs pivoted back to the women in the room. “Birdie, whatever it is, the answer is no. No way, no how. Nuh-uh.”

  Birdie flashed her eyes to her friend. “Do you see what I put up with? They turn thirty and they think they know everything.”

  Baba-Carol-What’s-Her-Face balked. “Tell me about it. I’ve got one just like her. Doesn’t listen to a lick I say.”

  I held a finger up to Miss 1984 and said, “Excuse me a moment.” My hand clamped on my grandmother’s arm and I pulled her into the hallway.

  “Birdie, please be reasonable. I haven’t had a vacation since, since…” Holy pussbucket, I never had a vacation. “Ever.”

  Birdie straightened her skirt. “Nonsense. What about Ireland?”

  Was she serious? I searched her emerald eyes. Yep, dead serious.

  “Are you freaking kidding me, Birdie? Ireland? That was NOT a vacation. That was me getting sucked into a rabbit hole and squeezed back out, forced to compete in the council’s crazy competition for the Seeker role, not to mention battling enemies, trying to complete a mission and dodging knives thrown by killer ghosts!”

  “Oh, please, it’s not like you died.”

  I was this close to ripping the scalp off one of us. Since we had the same red hair, it was a toss-up. “Um, hellloooo…” I threw my hands in the air. “Remember?”

  We never talked about Ireland since the trip. I wasn’t about to bring it up now, but she forced me to jog her memory on how dangerous that escapade had been. For all of us.

  “Oh. I forgot about that.” A nostalgic look crossed Birdie’s face. “The food was nice.”

  I tossed my hands up in the air, exasperated. “Forget it. The answer is no. I’m going with Chance to Asheville and you can’t stop me.”

  “Stacy, I wouldn’t ask you to help if it wasn’t important. Carol is an old friend from a coven I once…belonged to and she needs your help—“

  A throat cleared behind me and I spun around to see Carol leaning against the archway of the parlor. “It’s all right, Birdie. Let the girl go.”

  This woman was a trip. She spoke like she was decades older than me.

  Birdie wrinkled her brow. “But—“

  Carol held up a bangled wrist. “It will work out. Just as it’s supposed to. I have a hunch.” She winked.

  I didn’t pause to contemplate that. I just pecked my grandmother on the cheek, told Babs Yogi it was nice meeting her and rushed back through the kitchen to ask Fiona to care for Thor.

  I should have known that wink would come back to haunt me. Literally.

  ~FOUR~

  Chance was loading a cooler into the car when I got back to the cottage. “I packed a few things for you. The bag’s in the front seat if you want to check. It will be cold in the mountains, so there’s a few sweaters.” He shut the back door and shot me a sexy grin. “I didn’t pack any PJs though.”

  I smiled and wrapped my arms around his waist. “Perfect. All I need is a fire and your skin to keep me warm.”

  He bent down to kiss me.

  When we parted, he asked, “Everything okay with Birdie?”

  “All clear.”

  He sighed. “Good because you have someone else to break the news to.” He pointed over my shoulder.

  Behind me stood Thor, a small suitcase clutched in his huge jaws, his tail thumping madly.

  Chance said, “He packed it himself. It’s mostly Milkbones, blankets and K-9 cop movies.”

  I walked over to my Big Man, considering how to handle this. Thor was much more than my dog, more than my familiar. He was my partner, my best friend. My family. And on more than one occasion, my savior. But deep down I knew that he could use a break too. Keeping me safe was a full time job for Thor. The trip would be long and boring and even if I could sneak him into the estate, I doubted it would be much fun for him watching Chance and me make kissy face.

  His giant head came up to my chest, so I didn’t have to bend down to speak to Thor. “Listen, Buddy, this is going to be a pretty long, pretty boring road trip.” His ear tipped forward, skeptical. “The place is really fancy.” He grumbled a bit. “And they don’t have pizza.”

  At this horror of horrors, Thor’s jaw opened and he dropped the suitcase. He barked in protest, astonished at such a notion.

  “And even if we found a pizza place to deliver, Thor, I’m telling you, they just don’t make it the same in the south. I’m talking cardboard slathered in ketchup.” So I’d been told.

  The dog batted the air with his paw, woofing in disbelief. “Serious, Dude. They’re more known for seafood and barbecue and sweet tea. I hear even the steaks and burgers are nothing to write home about.”

  He sat down and stared at the ground, his ears twitching as he reconsidered his position. When he looked back at me, it was clear that he was disappointed such a place existed in this country.

  “I thought maybe you might like to hang out with Fiona for a few days? She’ll make you pot roast and mashed potatoes with real bacon. Not the turkey kind that I buy.”

  Thor cocked his head toward the inn, mumbling. After a moment, he turned back and stood on his hind legs for a hug. I gave him a good squeeze and he lumbered back down to the ground.

  “
When I get back, how about we have a camp-out, just the two of us.”

  Thor slathered a kiss across my face and walked over to have a word with Chance. When they were finished, he moseyed his big tan ass across the yard and let himself into the Geraghty house through the screen door.

  My heart lurched a bit as the door slammed behind my Great Dane. We hadn’t been apart since we’d met, and I couldn’t help but feel a teensy bit sad.

  Chance came up behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders. “We can take him. We can book a room somewhere else if you want. Somewhere Thor friendly.”

  I put my hands on top of his. “No, this will be good for him. He needs a break from Thoring. Let Fiona spoil him a bit.”

  But there was another reason I wanted Thor to stay behind and I sent him the message, as best I could, through my mind’s eye.

  His head popped up in the back window, ears standing to attention. He let out a sharp bark, telling me as only he could, message received.

  So it was settled. Thor would keep an eye on Carol.

  ~FIVE~

  I showered and dressed in jeans, a fuzzy sweater and brown leather boots while Chance was doing some last minute checks on the car. I packed up a travel bag with magical tricks—charms, some herbs and crystals—then slipped my athame into my boot, bespelled my sword to the size of a pocket knife and stepped out onto the porch.

  Crazy things happen around witches, because, well, we’re all a little cuckoo. I’ve seen and experienced a lot of wacky stuff. But the scene before me was one for the record books.

  Three fat cats the size of beagles were lounging on the porch swing. There were playing cards and bottles of beer spread out in front of them. I scanned the yard, wondering what sort of psychopath would play this kind of a joke on me. At least I was hoping it was a joke.

  “Meow,” said the white cat with gray splotches.

  “May-wow,” said an even larger gray cat.

  The third one, a calico had apparently fallen asleep while eating a cheese curd. He was snoring and purring at the same time.

  “Shoo,” I said, waving my arms.

  This didn’t go over so well.

  The two cats that were awake started circling me and—I swear if I could speak feline—cussing me out. The hair on their backs stood on end and they were bitching non-stop. The white one seemed to have a real problem with boundaries. He grabbed my ass and I slapped his paw away.

  “Meow, meow.”

  “May-wow, may-wow.”

  The third cat was still happily snoring and passing gas.

  I plugged my nose, hoisted my bag on my shoulder, took a look at the cards—five card stud seemed to be the game—and said, “Listen fellas, I believe you may have me confused with my aunt Fiona. She speaks feline. I do not.” My arm aimed towards the Geraghty house, I said, “She’s right over there.”

  The two trouble makers glanced towards the inn. “But so is a dog the size of a truck, so think very hard before you make your move. I gotta run.”

  Chance was pulling into the driveway, then so I jogged down towards him. He got out of the SUV, took a look at the porch, and raised an eyebrow.

  “Do I want to know?”

  “Nope and neither do I. Let’s roll.”

  Chance tossed my bag in the back seat and climbed behind the wheel.

  After we were safely out of Amethyst, I would text Fiona about the mess on the porch. Right now, I was in vacation mode. Which is why I ignored the well dressed, older female spirit trying desperately to materialize behind us. She flicked in and out of view, almost as if she had already moved on, and was trying to come back.

  But why?

  She finally seemed to gather a form just as Chance backed through her. She dissipated then, but not before she flipped us off.

  See what I mean? Some ghosts could be total jacknuts.

  Illinois is a fairly boring state to drive through, so Chance took a more scenic route and cut through Ohio and down into Kentucky. We’d been driving for hours, playing road games like I Spy and Slug Bug, singing along to the radio, and quoting famous lines from movies when we got our first flat somewhere near West Virginia.

  Chance pulled the car over to the side of the road. “Stay here. This shouldn’t take long.”

  “I can help,” I offered.

  “That’s okay. It’s nippy outside. Stay here where it’s toasty.”

  When he got out of the car, I checked my messages. Fiona had texted me back saying that there were no cats on my porch and she hoped the little darlings found the help they needed.

  Little darlings. More like big perverts, I thought.

  I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes, daydreaming of roaring fires, room service, and long naked nights with my sweetheart.

  A knock on the window stirred my thoughts, and I opened my eyes expecting to see Chance’s chiseled face. Instead, I found a man with a twitchy rabbit nose staring back at me.

  I yelped and instinctively reached for my sword.

  The man held his hands up. “Don’t be alarmed. I’m not going to hurt you. Just wondered if you need some assistance?”

  What the hell?

  “Get back!” I swiveled my head to look for Chance but all I saw was another man—a short guy with a round face and beaver teeth—peering at me from the driver’s side window.

  He waved with enthusiasm, “Hi! I’m Bob!”

  My warning radar flipped into overdrive.

  When a person is born with boobies and ovaries, there is an intrinsic trait bred into her DNA. This trait has been passed down from mother to daughter for eons. That trait teaches us that many men are predators. And when a strange man leers into your car window on the side of the road, an instinct kicks in—flight or fight.

  The women in my family are fighters. Which means we kick-ass and ask questions later.

  What happened next, I am ashamed to admit, has been a stain on my witch hood for years.

  I slammed the car door into rabbit-head’s face, breaking his nose. He toppled backwards and promptly passed out. I dragged his body over to the front of the car where the headlights were shining so he wouldn’t get flattened by a semi. Then I tumbled over the hood, unleashed my sword, and pinned Bob to the ground by his ugly plaid shirt.

  “Wh-what are you doing?” the man with the buck teeth asked. There was a sheen of sweat forming on his uni-brow.

  “That’s my line. What are you doing lurking around dark highways, praying on helpless women, you scumbag?”

  Bob’s eyes widened. He glanced at my sword. “You don’t seem to be helpless.”

  “Not the point.” I quickly scanned the tree line, looking for both Chance and more attackers. “Where’s Chance?”

  “Who?”

  He seemed genuinely confused.

  But the tire was still flat. I pressed the sword into his neck. “Do not play with me. You have no idea who you are messing with, Little Man.”

  His nose started to run and I was afraid he might cry. “What did you do with Roger?” He asked, eyes wild as a frightened animal.

  “Roger is indisposed at the moment.”

  Beaver teeth yelped.

  Behind me, I heard, “Um. Stace?”

  The man on the ground wiggled to see who was speaking to me.

  I warned, “Do not move.”

  “Help!” he cried.

  I steadied my sword and tilted my chin to the right.

  Chance was standing there, looking perfectly healthy, if not a bit bemused and a little freaked out. “How about we at least get to our destination before threatening the locals with bodily harm?” he suggested.

  “Where were you?” I asked.

  Chance thumbed toward the tree line. “Nature called.” He glanced at the now sobbing man on the ground, then over his shoulder to the incapacitated Roger. “So you’ve been busy.”

  I retracted my sword and stuffed it into my back pocket. Helping the man to his feet, I said, “I am so very sorry… um….”
<
br />   His trembles subsided a bit as he coughed out a name. “Bob.”

  “Bob, right. Listen, I can’t apologize enough. It’s just that you startled me and you came up so unexpectedly. Are you all right?”

  Bob smiled meekly. “I’m fine. I understand how you could have misconstrued our intentions. I assure you that neither I, nor Roger wish to harm anyone.”

  He seemed sweet and genuine and it made me feel two inches tall.

  “Roger?” he called, straightening his thick flannel shirt.

  Chance said, “I don’t think he can hear you.”

  Bob’s hand flew to his mouth. “Oh my stars. He’s not, I mean, is he…”

  I glared at Chance for scaring the poor man and marched over to check on Roger. “He’s fine. He’s just sleeping, Bob.”

  Yep, still out cold.

  Chance trailed behind me. “Well, this is awkward.”

  Bob bit his lip, which I assumed happened often with those chompers of his. “Oh dear.”

  I pulled Chance aside, “What are we going to do?”

  He stood there, grinning as if assault was funny. “Well, I am going to fix the flat tire. You can handle this little situation, Rambo.”

  I pinched my fingers to my forehead. “I can’t believe this. I mean, where did they even come from?”

  We both looked back at Bob and Roger, who was slowly coming to with a knot on his forehead. There was just a trickle of blood dotting his nose. Maybe I hadn’t broken it after all. One could hope.

  “We keep trucking?” Chance suggested.

  I whispered, “I can’t just leave them. I may have given the guy a concussion. Not to mention poor Bob will probably have an unnatural fear of redheads the rest of his life.”

  “Not so sure that’s unnatural. You Gingers are scary as hell,” Chance said.

  I rolled my eyes.

  Chance glanced back to find Bob slapping Roger’s face. “What were they doing out here anyway?”

  There was nothing around for miles. No buildings, restaurants, gas stations, not even a McDonald’s.

  “I don’t know. It’s weird, right?”

  Bob was gathering his friend, helping him to his feet when I said, “Look, guys I have to ask what the hell were you doing out here anyway?”