And as easily as that, the two witches cemented their friendship, forming a bond that would last a lifetime--and beyond.
* * *
As Mara and Gus drove away, Tillie shimmered an appeared in the back seat.
"You'd better get a move on, toots." Tillie snorted.
"Why?" Mara asked, swinging around. "Is the baby in trouble?"
"It's not the baby. It's Paul. If you don't want to see his brain splattered on the walls, drive faster."
"Gus!" Mara said, panicked. "Floor it!"
Gus complied. And with a buck and a jump, Zed, their Ford Explorer Hybrid, zoomed down the freeway, full speed ahead.
~~~
First Witch: When shall we three meet again, in thunder, lightning, or in rain?
Second Witch: When the hurlyburly's done, when the battle's lost and won.
Macbeth, 1.1
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 currently available at Amazon. To learn more about her, you can visit her website or link up with her on Facebook, on Twitter, or email her at [email protected].
* * *
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 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.
If you enjoyed A TALE OF THREE WITCHES, you may also enjoy:
SOMEBODY TELL AUNT TILLIE SHE'S DEAD by Christiana Miller
SOMEBODY TELL AUNT TILLIE SHE'S DEAD (excerpt)
By Christiana Miller
At the beginning of this whole, surreal journey, I had no idea you could be evicted from your body as easily as you could be booted out of your apartment. Easier, actually, since there's none of those pesky laws in place to protect you. But it all started out so innocently . . . With a streak of bad luck.
One of the problems with being a witch is when you ask the universe a question, it generally gives you an answer. Or just enough of one to ruin a perfectly good week.
But since it was my birthday . . .
And since I was an eternal optimist . . .
And mostly 'cause I was stuck at the longest red light in the history of traffic, with nothing else to do . . .
I dug my tarot deck out of my purse and pulled three cards for the coming year.
Death.
Three of Swords.
The Tower.
Transformation. Sorrow. Change through destruction. Happy birthday to me.
Damn it. I shouldn't have looked. You'd think I'd know better by now. Damn tarot cards always suckered me into peeking into my future and I just about always regretted it. Because the hell of it was . . .
They were usually right.
After a quick stop at Trader Joe's, I was finally home. I propped the grocery bag on my hip, wrestled open the wrought iron gate and placed my hand on my mailbox. Mara Stephens, Apt 1-C.
I stood for a second, hoping my unemployment check was in there and tried to read the vibes. This was a game I always played with myself -- a small psychic exercise to keep my 'sight' sharp. But I didn't feel any sense of urgency or hope. Just a whopping dose of dread.
Great. So my guess was no check, but at least one major bill I'd have to pay. I unlocked the box and quickly sorted through the mail. Sure enough -- a sale flyer from the Crooked Pantry, a birthday card from a temp agency and a pink notice from the Dept. of Water and Power.
Good thing I had plenty of candles to fall back on. And a swimming pool. Maybe I could shower over the drain in the courtyard, with the garden hose. People washed their dogs there all the time. And my shampoo was considerably less toxic than flea dip.
Tucked into the back of the mailbox was a reminder about the rent. At least that was one thing I didn't need to worry about. Lenny knew I was good for it. How much longer I'd be able to pay the rent though . . . That thought made me queasy.
Suddenly, a wave of panic hit my stomach and clenched it hard. Forget crawling, gooseflesh positively raced across my arms. I struggled to breathe. Whatever was wrong, it all seemed to be coming from the direction of my apartment.
I dropped my mail into the grocery bag and peeked around the corner of the mail stand. Behind the screen door, my front door was wide open.
Shit! I ducked back behind the mailboxes and fumbled through my purse for my cell phone.
I flipped open the phone and hit 9-1-1.
Busy.
I hung up and tried again.
Still busy.
Bloody hell. No wonder the crime rate was so high in Los Angeles. I didn't know what the non-emergency number was, so I decided to call my home phone and warn the intruder to clear out.
If I was lucky, it would just be a break-in. A simple case of anonymous robbery. I'd warn them that I was on my way home and they'd hit the road with their haul.
But as I punched in the first three digits, the phone beeped, the battery icon blinked and the screen went black.
Damn it. I shoved the phone back into my purse and took another look at my apartment. The living room lights had been turned on against the gathering dusk. But why would robbers turn on the lights? Didn't that negate the whole idea of stealth?
I crept closer. That's when I saw Mrs. Lasio, the new building manager, planted like a bull in my living room.
Great. Just freaking great. Why did it have to be her? Why couldn't it have been some whacked-out crack-head carting off my TV?
If you enjoyed this excerpt, click here to purchase SOMEBODY TELL AUNT TILLIE SHE'S DEAD.
If you enjoyed A TALE OF THREE WITCHES, you may also enjoy:
OPAL FIRE by Barbra Annino
OPAL FIRE (excerpt)
by Barbra Annino
You might say everything was fine until the fire.
I was back in my hometown and living in my grandmother's guest cottage. I had a steady boyfriend, a steady job and a sturdy dog.
Right now, my main concern was the dog.
"Stacy!" Cinnamon yelled through the haze of hot smoke. "Are you still in here?" The panic in her voice matched the fear pumping through my veins.
"I can't find Thor!" I coughed back.
"He'll be fine. Just get out!" Cinnamon was about to step forward when a beam whistled, then cracked and plunged into the floorboards. A wave of sparks shot into the air, barricading her in the back room of the bar.
I sure hoped that exit wasn't locked and if it was, I prayed Cinnamon had the keys with her.
"Cin," I choked. I couldn't see my cousin anymore through the thick fog and debris, so I stepped forward.
A wave of fire licked the air -- too close to my eyebrows for comfort. It forced me to lunge backwards into a beer barrel. I lost my footing, scrambling for anything to sustain a landing. My arm caught the edge of the brass foot rail as I went down -- the searing pain instant and vicious.
Then I saw him.
My recently adopted Great Dane was wedged between the keg that toppled me, and another, set close to the bar. We hadn't had a chance to hook them up before the fire erupted.
"Thor! Come!" The desperation in my voice shook me to the core.
His rear end was wiggling while the kegs blocked him like linebackers. I couldn't figure out what was holding him there. My eyes flashed to the front entrance of the bar. The flames hadn't reached it yet, but I was certain w
e had minutes, maybe only seconds to escape.
Sirens screamed not far off.
I flopped on my belly and skidded quickly to Thor, ignoring the burn. I managed to get my head around the first keg. The dog's eyes met mine, pleading with me not to leave him there. Not to let him die as waves of heat threatened his long, tan tail.
The foot rest was ornamental and one of the decorative loops had reached out and snagged Thor's dog tag.
"Hang on, buddy." I heard another whistling sound and looked up. A second beam had caught a spark.
Thor whimpered.
My fingers crawled around the keg to grab the tag, but my arm wasn't long enough.
Thor yanked his head back, the muscles in his huge neck bulging as if they would burst right through his fur. The tag bent beneath his force, but he didn't have enough leverage to move his head or I was sure that collar would have broken apart. It wouldn't have been the first one that couldn't contain Thor.
I sure hoped it wouldn't be the last.
With one good arm, I shoved at the first keg, hoping for enough room to free him.
It wouldn't budge.
The sirens screeched closer.
Or was that Thor, wailing?
The bottle opener! It was in my back pocket and it might get me just enough length to lift that stupid tag over the brass.
Just as an ugly orange flame crept closer to Thor, I heard a familiar voice.
"Stacy!" Leo yelled and a bottle burst.
Then another.
I kicked my foot. "Down here! Help me get Thor!"
Leo covered me with a tarp and yanked me back by my ankles as Thor howled like a wolf beneath a full moon.
"Get out!" Leo yelled and grabbed his utility knife. To cut the nylon collar, I guessed. There was no time for that.
I grabbed the gun from his holster and fired three shots into the far keg. Beer shot up, then showered down on the bar, my dog and the floor. It was enough liquid to set the flames at bay.
Leo shoved the first keg out of the way and cut the collar off Thor. The three of us sprinted from the Black Opal, spilling onto the street where a crowd had already gathered.
Leo grabbed his gun from my hand and guided me through the red, white, and blue lights -- a rare sight in the tiny tourist town where we lived. Firefighters zigzagged across Main Street, hosing down the nineteenth century building as volunteers ran around asking how they could help.
It was late afternoon in February, but I wasn't cold. We headed to Leo's police cruiser and I leaned against it, coughing out a sigh as he handed me a towel to wipe my face.
We stood there for a moment in silence and I felt a lecture coming.
"Are you crazy?" he finally asked.
I looked at him, pointedly. "Don't call me crazy. You know that drives me nuts."
Leo set his incredibly sexy, always-stubbly jaw line.
"You could have been killed," he said in a low voice.
"But I wasn't, so let it go." I was too pumped with adrenaline to let my guard down. Had I stopped and thought about what might have happened . . . I shivered at the possibilities.
Leo ran his fingers through his thick black hair and sighed. He pulled me into him and rubbed my shoulders. I flinched as my arm met his leather jacket and he stood back to examine it. He snapped his fingers and an EMT promptly said, "Sure, chief," and shoved an oxygen mask in my face.
Leo is my boyfriend and chief of police of Amethyst, Illinois, where the pie is homemade, the pump is full-service and quirky is a compliment. He has a Mediterranean look about him and a slight temper to match. Mostly when I put myself in life threatening situations. Which was hardly ever.
"Look at that burn too," Leo said to the EMT.
"Nah, it's fine," I said. "The aunts and Birdie will take care of it." No co-pay when you lived with witches.
Thor was leaning against me, licking the beer off his backside and I began to towel him off with my tarp.
Leo said, "You two get in the car and stay warm. Give me a minute to straighten out this mess and then you can tell me what happened."
I looked over at the crowd. It had developed its own heartbeat.
"I need to find Cinnamon, Leo."
Leo pulled out his radio and called to Gus, his right-hand man. He opened the door to the backseat and Thor and I slid in.
A few minutes later he knocked on the window.
"She's fine. Not a scratch. Now sit tight, so I can ask you some questions before the Mayor has a coronary and I have to explain why my girlfriend is always caught up in the chaos that surrounds this town like the Twilight Zone on steroids."
He shut the door again and a firefighter approached him.
I drank in the scene around me. Some people were directing traffic, some were throwing buckets full of water on the flames (the whole bucket too, not just the contents), some were snapping photos and one guy, I recognized as a regular of the Black Opal, Scully, was clutching a stool and crying.
It was like the bleacher seats at a Cubs game when the beer gets cut off, but how was that my fault?
Before Leo turned back towards the car, a small group of men, all dressed in purple polo shirts with plastic badges, approached him.
"Chief, where did ya want me?" A man asked.
"I can close off the streets," another offered.
"Hey, I called that," said a third.
I rolled down the window. "Leo, what's this?" I asked as the three men neared the squad car.
Leo turned back and said in a low voice. "Remember I told you we were hosting a citizen's academy class?"
I nodded.
"Today was graduation."
I winced. In a matter of seconds, the rent-a-cops swarmed Leo like a group of bees in a bed of sunflowers. Actually, they weren't even rent-a-cops. They were rent-a-cop wannabes. It was disturbing.
While Leo fought them off, I seized the opportunity to slip away. Thor and I snuck out the other side of the car and headed down the street.
I needed to find my cousin. See her. Touch her.
We made it about a block when I noticed, displaced from the crowd, a pimply-faced teenager with hair like a Brillo pad staring at me, an oddly satisfied look on his face.
I stopped and stared back. He smiled, wildly. Then he bolted like a cat attached to a firecracker.
And a chill rumbled through my veins.
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