Dirty Deeds

by R. J. Blain

  “Can you handle the virdanas?” Mal asked. “They’ve got a lot of power.”

  “They aren’t going to attack me,” Law said. “They’ve followed their rules, and now that they’ve lost Nayena, they’d be stupid to push this any farther. One thing they aren’t is stupid.”

  “So you’re just going to let them go?” Mal asked.

  “I didn’t say that. They have misbehaved at my auberge. They hurt you. They require a lesson in manners.”

  So’la grinned. “Would you care for some help?”

  Law tilted is head. “Why?”

  “It’s a rare opportunity when I get to commit heinous acts in the name of good.”

  “Heinous?” Mal echoed.

  “They hurt you,” So’la repeated. “They deserve heinous.” He looked at Law. “Don’t they?”

  “You are such a suck-up,” Mal said. “How about you deal with the big ones and I deal with the little ones?”

  Law frowned. “How?”

  “Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about. Ta!”

  She waved and headed for where the little female giants had grouped together. It was possible they might have left already. Part of her hoped that they had and that they got whatever punishment was coming to them. The other part of her said that they’d been treated horribly and deserved better, though doing evil to someone else to save your own ass was a damned shitty thing to do.

  The group milling around, most looking stoic. Ilee remained inside the waterspout. Maybe that was justice. Mal didn’t know.

  She approached the group.

  “You all suck,” she said, amplifying her voice with magic.

  They turned to look at her, and several shifted to dragon form as if preparing to fight.

  “I get that what happened to you was crappy and you deserve a lot better, but this wasn’t the way to handle it. Why didn’t you all just leave Giantlandia and go looking for a cure on your own?”

  “It was forbidden,” one female said quietly, uncowed.

  “Not by the curse,” Mal said. “Otherwise you couldn’t be here.”

  “By the virdanas and our clans.”

  Because they were divided up over many clans, they didn’t have a singular voice to speak for themselves, so they were always outvoted.

  Mal’s forehead wrinkled. “Why did they forbid it?”

  “They wanted no one to know our shame. Nor did they wish anyone to learn of our shifting ability.”

  “They can’t forbid it anymore,” Mal said.

  “Our virdana can. Nayena. She will. The males of Moon Clan do not wish us to seek. They are happy enough with the alliance and, like the rest, do not want to spread news of our shame.”

  “Their shame,” another female said from farther back.

  “What if I could offer you another choice?” Mal asked. “It’s dangerous. You might all die. In fact, you probably will, if you take it.”

  The first woman she’d been speaking to gave her a long look. “But we’d be free?”

  “Yes, but it’s not guaranteed. You’ll have to get permission first.”

  “You could grant this?”

  “I will ask for you. But you have to decide now,” Mal said as the waterspout froze in place behind her, a still sculpture of spun water. “Once Law gets done with the virdanas, I can’t help you.”

  The female’s lips pursed, and she nodded once, decisively. “We will go.”

  “You speak for everyone?”

  “Yes.”

  She looked over her shoulder as she said it as if not quite sure. Mal waited for someone to protest, but no one did.

  “All right, then. Follow me.”

  The path to the wildwood wasn’t far. They strode up the cathedral-like walkway, cobbles giving way to moss then leaf meal. The ghosts drifted along with them. Apparently, they were curious about how this would play out.

  Mal halted just before the scattered line of yellow-spotted purple toadstools. Mist filled the entry like a wall, curling around the limbs of trees and reaching out to slide damp tendrils along the ground.

  “Wait here.”

  Mal stepped through the mist into bright dawn light. She wasn’t all that surprised to find Tazho sitting cross-legged between the sprawling roots of a great tree, its massive limbs angling outward and up like great candelabra. A large animal that looked something like a wolverine crossed with a grizzly and a lion, snuggled half on his lap, the rest of its body humped over a massive tree root. Tazho scratched its jaw as it rumbled with delight.

  Mal approached, stopping a short distance away.

  “Hello.”

  He flashed a bright smile. “Hello.”

  “Are you expecting me?”

  “Yes.”

  Her brows drew together, more in wonder than confusion. “How?”

  “The winds and water of the wildwood travel far,” was his only reply, as if that made sense.

  Maybe it did. Maybe she was just too stupid to see it. Or tired, not to mention starving.

  “You bring others.”

  She nodded. “They are… outsiders. They’ve been made different and now have no home and no people. They don’t know who they are or who they will be. They are seeds of something new.” Kind of like the creatures made by the glitter bombs. “I think the wildwood might be their only chance.”

  His expression turned unexpectedly sober. “They may find their way, but it may not be one they like. Some get more lost.”

  “It’s a chance. If you will give them permission to enter.”

  He scooted out from under the sleeping beast and stood with lithe grace. “They are welcome. It is not a soft place.”

  “They are not soft people.”

  He walked to the threshold, holding out a hand. “I invite you to visit. I will show you my realm.”

  She didn’t think he made such offers often. Mal put her hand in his. His skin was dry and warm, and his energy felt nurturing and joyfully wild, like seeds exploding with life in the spring. “I’d like that.”

  He nodded and let go of her hand. The mist blanketing the entry vanished. Outside, the group of cursed female giants waited in silence, a mantle of loss and despair weighting them. The ghosts stood beside them as if to share their pain.

  The giants watched Tazho without any real hope. They’d lost over and over, and now they couldn’t pretend anymore. They had to admit that they’d never regain what they’d had.

  Talk about depressing. Mal sighed. All of this had been preventable. Talk about screwed up.

  The forest lord gestured wide, inviting them inside. “Welcome to the wildwood, my friends. All beings are free here. Enter if you desire.”

  With only a slight hesitation, the female giant Mal had first spoken to stepped through. She bowed to Tazho and nodded to Mal, one hand pressed over her heart. Then, in one shimmering movement, she shifted and leaped into the air, taking flight.

  One by one, the rest of the cursed female giants followed suit. The last one paused after her bow, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath as if it were her first. She looked at Mal.

  “I am Miesh, sister to Yibal. I would be pleased to call you friend.” She didn’t wait for an answer but launched into flight.

  Tazho bounded away a moment later without another word. Mal shook her head and stepped back out of the wood. She returned up the path to find Law and So’la waiting for her.

  “Interesting idea,” Law said.

  “At least it gave them somewhere to go. Maybe they’ll break the curse. Maybe they’ll find a life worth living. Did you get the others taken care of?”

  So’la gave a slow, unpleasant smile. “The giants have seen the error of their ways and have all departed, never to return. They will not be welcome in this or any other auberge again.”

  “Ever?”

  “Ever,” Law said, voice rock hard.

  “Coorsel and Nayena?”

  “Both well. Hammet, Coorsel’s uncle, was killed,” Law said. />
  “I suppose everything is about to get boring again,” So’la said. “Call me again when a disaster strikes. With Mal around, it won’t be long.”

  He vanished before Mal could flip him off.

  It’ll be a cold day in hell when I summon you back, she groused.

  Next week it is!

  She had a sense of him laughing and decided to quit while she was behind.

  She and Law ambled toward the towers.

  “I guess you’ll be working late tonight,” she said, yawning.

  “Does that bother you?”

  “No. I’m going to go soak in a tub with a jar of peanut butter and a bowl of chocolate chips for dinner, and after, I’m going to crawl into bed with my boyfriend, Elliot.”

  Law didn’t respond.

  “That was a joke, well, except the part about the tub, the peanut butter and chocolate chips, and bed. The boyfriend part was a joke, though Elliot does think he’s entitled to a spot on the bed.”

  “I’ll try not to be too late.”

  “Oh, please. It’s a hell of a mess to clean up, and who knows what sort of damage that spell caused. I’ll be surprised if you make it for breakfast.” She frowned. “Do you think I’m mad? Because I’m not. I don’t have any issues with your job. What makes you think I do?”

  “Because you nearly died tonight, and I couldn’t help you and now you’re going back to the apartment alone. It isn’t right. I should be there with you.”

  Mal broke out into laughter. “Who are you and what have you done with Law?”

  He pulled her around to face him. “I’m serious. If I weren’t bound here—”

  “Oh, shut up. If you weren’t bound here, you’d have another demanding job and it wouldn’t make a difference. Also, if in the last couple of seconds, you’ve had a massive stroke and are about to suggest I should be with someone who has a nine-to-five job, I suggest you keep that to yourself or risk me stuffing a glitter bomb in your underwear. I don’t want anyone else. I want you. If that means I have to go to bed with a goat now and again, boo hoo. You can make it up to me with bacon. And of course, I’m okay if you’re a little bit tortured by thinking of me naked in the tub while you have to work.”

  “Things have been tense between us,” he began again.

  “Law, this is not the time nor the place to have serious conversations about our relationship. I am filthy and I’m not sure what might have managed to crawl into my crotch when I was in the water, but I’d very much like to go get clean.”

  That got a chuckle from Law. Finally.

  “Promise me one thing,” he said.

  “Fine, but I’m not going to be responsible for public indecency complaints,” she said, her hands falling to his belt and starting to unbuckle it.

  He laughed again and caught them, lifting them up to kiss her fingers.

  “Promise me that you’ll let me spend two weeks babying the fuck out of you.”

  “Two entire weeks?” she squeaked. “I’ll go insane.”

  “No, you won’t,” he said, bending to brush his lips against hers. “Or rather, I promise to make you insane in a very, very good way.”

  “Will there be bacon? And coffee?”

  “And so much more. I want two weeks, Mal. Just us and no work. I get to coddle you with impunity. With total abandon. And with your complete and total cooperation and participation.”

  He nibbled down the tendon of her neck and down lower, licking between her breasts. She sucked in a breath.

  “You’re manipulating me.”

  “I am. Should I stop?”

  “No.”

  “So you agree? I can baby you for two weeks? No holds barred? And you have to participate willingly with no complaints?”

  “When would it start?”

  “A week from tomorrow. I’ll need to make some arrangements.”

  Mal leaned back to look at him. “What kind of arrangements?”

  His smile turned wicked. “The fun kind. Are you saying yes?”

  She heaved a sigh. “You’re threatening me with a good time. How can I say no?”

  His smile widened. “Good. Now go have your bath. Take your time. If I’m lucky, I’ll make it before you get out of the tub, and I’ll make sure every single inch of you is very, very clean.”

  With that, he strutted away, hands in his pockets, whistling.

  Mal watched him go, her entire body flushed with heat, her pulse thudding electrically. She reviewed the conversation in her mind.

  Holy crap. What had she just agreed to? She’d pretty much just given him free rein on doing anything he wanted for two entire weeks and she wasn’t allowed to complain. In fact, she was going to participate.

  Crap. She was in so much trouble.

  She headed for home. She’d better rest up.

  * * *

  The end.

  Doggone Mess by R.J. Blain

  Doggone Mess

  A Magical Romantic Comedy (with a body count)

  By R.J. Blain

  Copyright © 2021 by R.J. Blain

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  R.J. Blain suffers from a Moleskine journal obsession, a pen fixation, and a terrible tendency to pun without warning.

  In her spare time, she daydreams about being a spy. Her contingency plan involves tying her best of enemies to spinning wheels and quoting James Bond villains until satisfied.

  For more information on R.J. Blain, please visit https://thesneakykittycritic.com

  Chapter One

  After a long week of work, I couldn’t really blame anyone for grabbing fast food on the way home, but did everyone in Long Island have to visit my specific branch of McDonald’s? From vanilla humans, lycanthropes, practitioners, and centaurs, to devils, demons, and even an angel, everybody wanted a hit, and they wanted me to give it to them.

  I questioned the angel. How could they eat without a head? Did they eat? Why did an angel want nuggets? Why did everyone want nuggets today?

  While all the lines were busy, mine had twice as many people, and I doubted I’d survive to the end of my shift in an hour.

  I considered asking some divine for help, but I opted against the idea. With my luck, the devil would join the mayhem and give me one hell of an order.

  The nuggets held the place as the day’s reigning champion of sales, with the smart people ordering twenty, as it was approximately fifty cents more expensive than ordering ten. Burgers took the second spot of the day, and the underdog salad came in a close third, resulting in general mayhem in the back, as we hadn’t prepared for a salad bender.

  Oddly, the lycanthropes led the charge on the unexpected salad bender. Had someone slipped pixie dust into our dressing when I hadn’t been looking? While filling an insane order consisting of a hundred and sixty nuggets, ten fries, and enough soda to float a boat, I checked one of the labels to make sure.

  Nope, no pixie dust.

  I could’ve used a hit of pixie dust, but for some damned reason, the CDC got cranky when those infected with a contagious life-altering disease became snuggle fiends. My driver’s license specifically barred me from ingesting any pixie dust without a prescription, the cruelest of blows in my life outside of my accidental infection with lycanthropy. Pixie dust turned me into a snuggle fiend out on a mission to love everyone, making me a high infection risk.

  They would consider removing the flag after I mated, as they believed I would become a snuggle fiend with my mate, something they viewed to be acceptable.

  I hated the CDC, especially as my virus agreed with their idea. I bet my terrorist virus just wanted me to settle down and used pixie dust to its advantage, although I’d resisted its wicked ways thus far.

  Damn it, I needed a vacation. I also needed more than thre
e days off before my next chain of thirteen days of twelve hours a pop. If I worked fourteen days in a row without a break, the labor board might get upset. I should have complained about the low pay and long hours, but I needed the money to pay my rent. I kept smiling, bagged the boxes of nuggets, triple counted boxes to make sure I wouldn’t have a cranky lycanthrope storming back complaining he’d been shorted, and went about my work with the same general efficiency and life as the average robot programmed to be the perfect public servant.

  No matter what, I couldn’t afford to join the ranks of the unemployed. As a confirmed lycanthrope, jobs came few and far between, and I didn’t have a pack.

  Single lycanthrope women in packs didn’t stay single for long, and I refused to have anything to do with the local packs, especially since I had no idea which one of the mangy bastards had infected me in the first place—or if I’d been the victim of an unidentified hot spot.

  Considering how I’d spent a long time in the hospital thanks to some asshole, I’d been infected by a mangy bastard. Judging from my virus’s reaction to some men, she hated anyone who resembled the asshole who’d stolen my humanity almost as much as I did.

  The CDC wanted to do tests to determine if I had a known strain, but I’d refused. The way I figured, I was better off not knowing.

  My virus and I agreed on little, but it disliked that I hadn’t been a willing victim with a male on hand to cater to my every need. My virus wanted me to find someone—anyone—to scratch my various itches, and I considered myself lucky that wild part of me didn’t push too hard.

  I figured the CDC’s perfume helped with that.

  As the restaurant’s token wolf, present to serve those who either were willing to risk the virus to get their food faster or were also confirmed lycanthropes, I’d stay hired as long as I kept my work performance up and didn’t complain I only got three days off every thirteen or so days.

  According to my nose, only a few in my line were infected, and to my disgust, right before I was scheduled to escape, Wayne Barnes proved to be one of them. Thanks to my wolfsbane perfume, a gift from the CDC to keep my status as an unmated lycanthrope female hidden, most customers assumed I was the sacrificial lamb chosen by the managers to deal with the cranky lycanthropes, using the perfume to deter customers. As far as Wayne was concerned, I was the annoying holdout in what would one day be his apartment complex, refusing to move out to make it so he could purchase the building.