Bigfoots Don't Do Mini Coopers (Kate Storm Book 1)

by Meredith Allen Conner

  Aunt Tabs narrowed her eyes. “Why is Al locked in your bedroom?”

  “To keep him out of trouble.” I didn’t look her in the eye as I left to get Big Al. It wasn’t a lie. I had to remind myself of that three times before my stomach unknotted.

  I opened my bedroom door. Big Al sniffed the air. The fur on his neck smoothed down and he lowered his lip. “Did she bring manicotti?” He didn’t wait for a reply before he hustled down the hall.

  And I thought I had a one track mind.

  “Lookin’ good as usual, Tabby.” As far as I know, Al is the only one my aunt will allow to call her by that name. She’s as much a sucker for his bulging eyes as I am.

  “Why thank you, Al.” I entered the living room in time to see her give a little head toss. He might be a dog now, but Al will always be a ladies man.

  “New shoes?”

  She stretched out one heel for him to sniff. “Yes. They just came yesterday.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Sorry to interrupt, but do you think we could turn our attention to the dying creature on my pull out?” I kept my eyes glued on the two of them. As long as I didn’t look at the Bigfoot, my stomach remained calm.

  “Yes, of course.” Aunt Tabs leaned over the edge of the mattress. “You hit him with your car?” She tossed the question over her shoulder. “Or is it a her?”

  “Don’t know the answer to that either. That’s a lot of fur. And yes, I hit it with my car.”

  My aunt turned her head, narrowed her eyes at me. “You must be brushing up on your spells.” Like any good mother, she never let an I-can’t-believe-you-quit-the-Witch-Academy moment pass by.

  “Vampire assassins will do that,” I returned. There hadn’t been Witch Academies when my aunt was little. I’d lasted as long as I could.

  She wrinkled her nose and let the subject drop. She continued to look Bigfoot over, lifted one arm, checked the hand, moved near the feet then the head, lifted a lip. Finally she looked at me. “I don’t know what species it is either.” She frowned at the creature. “I’m a witch, not a scientist.”

  “Are you saying we can’t help it?” My stomach churned. I truly was going to be responsible for the demise of a species.

  “No. We can help it.” Air rushed into my lungs again. “We’ll just have to use a general healing spell. It will take much longer, but it will still work.” She pulled out her wand. “I think we should use a sleeping spell too. I’d hate for it to take off before we healed it.”

  Wouldn’t be a good idea for the neighborhood either.

  I watched as she waved her wand, whispered the spells, comforted by the familiarity. For the first time tonight, the upheaval in my stomach slowed and quit.

  “There. That should do it.” Aunt Tabs smiled, patted Bigfoot’s cheek. She turned towards me. “I think . . .” She paused, eyed me closely. “How about a cup of tea?”

  I nodded. For once, at a loss for words. I’m good - no, great - at covering up my insecurities and faults with both my tongue and a concentrated lack of caring.

  And I’m always conscious that it’s a damn thin veil.

  Pull it back and I’m a mess. Boiling cauldron just waiting to go over.

  Half-breed. Cursed. Witch. And I’d almost committed murder.

  I’ve killed once before and it hadn’t bothered me. In a fight for my life, I’ll do anything to win. But this . . .

  I followed Big Al and my aunt into the kitchen. I sat at one chair at the table and Al took another. Aunt Tabs moved comfortably around, filling the kettle, taking out mugs.

  “Green or black?” she asked.

  “Green.” Al and I answered as one.

  While she got out tea bags and honey, Al nudged me. His nose warm and wet against my arm. “You okay, Doll?”

  “Yeah.” I took a deep breath. “Yeah, I’m fine, Al.” I scratched behind his ears. “Thanks for checking.”

  He leaned into my touch. “Anytime, Doll.”

  Aunt Tabs set a mug in front of me and a small bowl in front of Al. She sat down with her own mug. “Feeling better?”

  I nodded. Al took a few laps of his tea, leaned forward with his ears at attention, “Do ya think you’re comin’ down with somethin’?”

  I choked on the sip I’d just taken. Death and murder are a common occurrence to a hit-man.

  “We don’t handle killing people, or creatures of any kind, all that well, Al.” Aunt Tabs answered for me.

  “Why not?” He tilted his head to the side. “Besides it isn’t dead.”

  “No. It’s alive, but it could have died. And I would have been responsible.” My voice came out a little hoarse.

  “So?” Al tilted his head the other way.

  I considered how best to explain. “I don’t like killing things.” That was a little too vague. “People, animals, Bigfoots.” I tried to be as encompassing as I could. “Plants.”

  “Ya killed that vampire assassin.” Al beamed proudly.

  “Yes, but only because he wanted to kill me. And Morgan.” I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have stopped there either. Ivan had wanted everything to do with me erased from existence. Which would have included my aunt and Al.

  “I didn’t want to kill him.” That wasn’t strictly the truth, but considering my choices, my conscience and morals didn’t have a problem with his death. Or my part in it.

  “If you didn’t want to kill him, I coulda done it for ya.”

  It is scary as all get out to know Al had actually functioned in society. Complete and utter sincerity shown from his watery chocolate eyes.

  I decided now was not the time for a lesson on Wiccan beliefs. “Thanks Al, I appreciate that.”

  “Anytime, Doll. Anytime.” Al lapped some more tea.

  Speaking of things Wiccan, “Aunt Tabs, how much do you know about our family curse?”

  Al and my aunt both stopped what they were doing and stared at me. The silence was absolute.

  I’d just pointed out the fire-breathing dragon in the room we all usually ignored. The curse on our coven is not something we discuss. Ever.

  I waited patiently.

  “Not much.” Aunt Tabitha took a long sip of her tea, set down the mug then picked it back up. “My mother wouldn’t discuss it.”

  “Your mother and father were the ones cursed, right?” I’d never met my grandparents. They’d passed before I was born.

  “I don’t know.” She shook her head, blonde strands caressed her cheek. “My father died when we were very young. I don’t know if he was cursed as well. I’ve always assumed so, since he died, but . . . Mom just wouldn’t talk about it.”

  I come by the duck and dodge impulse honestly. Then again, we are a cursed coven. It’s not something we tend to brag about at the yearly Wiccan gathering.

  “You’ve never researched our coven?” I certainly hadn’t.

  She sighed. “No.” She rubbed her hand gently over her chest. I understood. My heart ached too. The curse was like a flaming brand searing us from the inside.

  True outcasts in a society made up of outcasts.

  I didn’t need to drag my only living relative into my problems. She didn’t know anything. I’d just have to try some other way to find out what I needed. If I could find a way, any way, to break us free of this thing I would.

  I picked up my cup and Al’s bowl and brought them over to the sink.

  “But your mother did.”

  I froze. We don’t often bring up my mother. Memories of her hurt worse than a hundred brands.

  “Mom did what?”

  “Sam wanted more for you than what we had. She wanted you to find happiness. To be able to fall in love. And have that love thrive.” Aunt Tabs blinked several times, cleared her throat. “She’d just started researching the curse when she was killed.”

  I dropped the mug and bowl. They shattered at the bottom of the sink.

  6. Chihuahuas and Senators.

  My alarm went off at eleven. I turned it off, lay back down and continued t
o do what I’d been doing for the past several hours. Think.

  I’m surprised I got any sleep after my aunt dropped her bombshell.

  It’s not an easy thing to be an outcast. I thought we’d done remarkably well in our small coven. We had each other’s backs. Trusted each other. I’d killed to keep us safe.

  My mother had wanted to break the curse. For me.

  When you’ve always been on the outside, you learn to treasure love and acceptance and family like nothing else. I’ve always known my mother loved me. Never questioned or doubted it.

  But I’d never known she would battle her worst fears for me.

  It made the ache in my chest that much worse and so much more precious.

  Aunt Tabs promised she would look for the research my mother had begun. We’d stored several boxes of my mother’s things in Aunt Tabitha’s garage. Neither of us had really gone through it at the time, but we hadn’t been able to let go of it either.

  We still couldn’t.

  A warm tongue licked my ankle. Once. Twice. When the tongue moved up my calf, I called him on it. “I’m planning to take a shower this morning, Al. Thanks anyways.” I moved my leg several inches to the right.

  “I could always join ya. Take off from where I just . . .”

  “Not gonna happen, Al.” I cut him off before he could finish, threw the covers off and jumped out of bed. Hands on hips, I whirled to confront him.

  He blinked his bulging chocolatey eyes. I steeled my nerves. “Look, Al, this,” I motioned back and forth between us, “is not going to happen. At all. Period.”

  He cocked his tiny head, eyes soul melting pools of utter innocence.

  “You know it won’t work. It can’t.” So far, I’ve managed to avoid directly confronting the Chihuahua vs witch issue. I’m Al’s connection with reality, or what used to be his reality. If I confronted it head on, I’m not sure what he would do.

  But even I have my limits.

  “Not with Ash in the picture,” Al growled.

  Was that a threat to Ash?

  “Nothing is going to happen between us, Al. Ash or no Ash.” I ground out a decent growl of my own. “It’s impossible.”

  Somewhere in that little brain of his, he knew he was now a small dog. Utterly stubborn and determined to ignore reality, but he had to know. He had to. Didn’t he?

  “Nothin’s impossible, Doll.” Al stood, stretched his miniscule legs out in front and arched his back. He yawned widely. “Ready to go out?”

  From seduction, persuasion and possible threats to potty time? Oh, he knew all right.

  Al jumped off the bed, rubbed my ankle as he passed and headed down the hall.

  I’m pretty sure he knew. Maybe.

  I tugged on my robe and followed him. I had less than an hour before my first meeting of the day and I needed a very large cup of coffee.

  Al sat patiently by the front door. As I headed towards him, he blinked his bulging eyes slowly. His tiny pink tongue came out as he panted.

  Make that two very large cups of coffee.

  ****

  “You do understand that I am a professional matchmaking service? I am not an escort service.” Man, that really ticks me off when people think otherwise. Matchmaking is serious stuff.

  “Of course, of course. It’s why I’m here.” Professionally whitened teeth flashed brightly as he smiled. “I need a wife.”

  “Need or want a wife?” Really, I don’t have enough clients yet to discourage any of them. I knew and understand that. This client, in particular, could open lots and lots of doors for me.

  Oh, but, he annoyed me.

  “Why, both, of course.” Teeth gleamed, body leaned forward in earnest appeal, hands clasped lightly together, but it was the narrowing of his eyes that told the truth.

  Liar. Schemer. Fake.

  And I couldn’t afford to turn him away.

  The truth spells I’d cast on the chair where he sat, told me he was corrupt, morally suspect and very wealthy.

  “Of course, Senator.” I flashed my own smile.

  “Tom, please, you must call me Tom.” He slid a hand through his perfectly styled brown hair. The large diamond on his pinkie twinkled.

  Sincerity beamed from his blue eyes, shadowed by the shark peering out from behind. High cheekbones, firm lips and a square jaw finished off his all-american good looks.

  The navy button-down shirt and brown jacket complimented his chocolate pants so perfectly, I bit back the urge to see if my green t-shirt matched my gold earrings.

  He leaned back and propped one foot over his knee, displaying matching navy socks. He had tassels on his loafers.

  I so wanted to go eighties Valley Girl and gag myself with a spoon.

  But I’m a good business witch. I swallowed my annoyance and prepared to do business. “Thank you, Tom.” Opening a drawer, I pulled out a packet. “Why don’t we go over how I work first and then we can move on to what you are looking for in a spouse.”

  Senator Tom Crawford, Idaho Republican, discreetly smoothed back his cuff and glanced at his watch. “I’m sure you can understand, as a man in my position, I don’t have a lot of time. I did have you checked out quite thoroughly before I chose you, I’m familiar enough with your business.”

  Not a big surprise. Also not a surprise that the play-boy senator up for re-election and at the beginning of his campaign would chose a matchmaker from a small town. Less likelihood of a media leak.

  And a man in his questionably re-electable position could certainly use a down-to-earth wife to improve his good-ole-boy republican persona before the public. If he just so happened to “fall in love” while on the campaign trail that would go a long way towards cementing his “all-american, average joe” image with his supporters.

  Gosh, just think of the added bonus media coverage. Such a shame all of those sweet hand holdings and lovey-dovey kisses would be plastered all over the papers and television.

  Oh, I understood the senator perfectly.

  He folded his hands together with importance and smooth calculation. “I can afford your services, Ms. Storm.”

  Unfortunately, my checkbook understood the senator too.

  I shot a glance at the diamond on his finger. “I’m sure you can.” Straightening my shoulders, I said, “Call me Kate. Since you have places to be, I’m sure we can move through this questionnaire quickly and get you on your way.”

  I could probably fill out the questionnaire without the esteemed senator: Blonde, athletic, impeccable back ground, plays either golf or tennis, volunteers - with children or veterans would be a bonus - and if I could manage a family member with a cause to support that would be perfect. Breast cancer or Alzheimer’s would resonate the largest with population demographics.

  Now might be a good time to point out I do not like politics. You could even go out on a limb and say I’m a touch cynical about it.

  I’m a witch. We’ve never really received any good publicity. At all. Although, witches aren’t in the public eye that much these days. Then again we’ve already been through The Inquisition and the Salem Witch Trials. Lesson learned.

  Usually I like my clients. At the very least I have some respect for them. I’d have to keep my eye on the bottom line and his nice check to get through this assignment.

  On the plus side, there were no dead bodies.

  7. Redneck Fairies

  I indulged in a lovely fantasy where my front door hit the senator in his perfect backside as he left. I particularly enjoyed his yelp of pain, the tear that showed his lipstick kissed boxers and the look on his face when the paparazzi snapped his picture.

  The door opened before I could expand into the scandal that would sentence the senator to years behind bars.

  As much as I might enjoy that, my bank account wouldn’t. I reminded myself a good business witch with bills to pay couldn’t be a choosy witch.

  At that precise moment, my brain sort of froze up. Went into a state of suspended disbelief as it were
.

  The most interesting creature walked into my office. I don’t say that lightly either. I’ve been babysat by gargoyles and gnomes in my youth. Bigfoot was currently sleeping on my pull-out.

  I put my money on fairy. Give or take a point towards siren.

  Brown, blonde and red streaks of vibrant color were caught and held in what I suppose you’d call a pony tail. The label made me feel bad for ponies.

  And I thought my curly locks were unruly.

  Strands escaped, ran wild and pogo-sticked around her face. And this was what I could see underneath her pink cowgirl hat with the magenta rhinestone band.

  Her bare shoulders and arms glittered faintly which was why I’d bet on fairy, but she also wore a ruffled orange tube top. I couldn’t see how her wings would fit inside such a skimpy shirt.

  The belt encircling her tiny waist was large and encrusted with more rhinestones in a rainbow of colors. Her short shorts were blue and just barely legal.

  Pale, shimmery legs descended in a long line before ending in a pair of rosy cowgirl boots. I placed another bet she’d bought the hat and boots at the same store. As a set.

  I’m sure anyone at Eddie Bauer would pick the senator’s way of matching over hers any day. I loved it.

  “I’m Désirée Norma-Sue.” She held her hand out as she approached. “I’m here for the interview.”

  The drawl and distinct twang loudly proclaimed “Southern gal.” The name screamed something else.

  Sweet Spirits. I was about to interview the first and only applicant for my receptionist position. And she was a redneck fairy.

  “Hi. I’m Kate Storm. I own Love Required.”

  We shook hands. Her nails were long and pink and her skin silky soft. Pink and orange sparkles glittered in the air above our hands.

  Huh. Friend potential.

  “Ah, I don’t mean to be rude, but are you fairy?” I held my breath. She had to be either fairy or siren. Fairies and sirens don’t mix well. Morgan had informed me at last year’s Creature Feature Ball the fairies had spiked the sirens’ punch with the Chaste Tree herb. It has a rather dousing effect on the libido of sirens and since all sirens really care about is their libido . . . It hadn’t gone over well.