Magic and Mayhem: A Collection of 21 Fantasy Novels

by Jasmine Walt

  The bug peeked out from behind Paul's long black hair, sputtered, and wiped his cute little face, wings all aflutter. "JoAnn, if you don't put that can down, I'm going to dust you with something to put you out of your misery."

  JoAnn yelped and made the sign of the cross with her free hand. "The bug can talk. My God, that's a talking bug!"

  Paul reached out and plucked the can from her hand. "You might not want to piss the fairy off any more than you already have." He tossed the can in the sink, then picked up a dishtowel and ran it across his face.

  Resi strolled over and stopped in front of the fairy with a big grin. "Damn, you're adorable. I'm Resi," she giggled.

  The fairy wore itty-bitty jeans hugging his cute little ass, a billowy purple shirt tucked into a red bandanna tied around his waist, with a sword hanging at his hip. Orange cowboy boots with tiny gold stars adorned his feet, matching his hair color, which was cut in a cute little pageboy that bounced around a heart shaped freckled face, and split over his pointy ears. He looked to be no more than two inches tall. A scowl rounded out the ensemble.

  "The name's Gibbie," the fairy said, his hand on the hilt of his sword, his eyes on JoAnn. "And I'm not fond of you."

  Mom put a hand over an open mouth, backed up two steps, narrowed her eyes and stared at the little anomaly.

  "Is he cute or what?" Resi asked.

  I noticed Jeni was not looking at the fairy on Wolf-boy's shoulder, but instead, smiled at Paul. Their eyes locked on each other.

  "So how the hell did you and the fairy find us?" I asked, pulling Paul's attention in my direction.

  "Gibbie stowed away on your boat," Paul said.

  "I live on the patio in the rock arrangement with all those beautiful orchids growing around it," Gibbie said, his hands resting on his hips as he turned to JoAnn. "You really piss me off when you work out there doing what you so commonly refer to as gardening."

  "Our garden? You live in our garden?" JoAnn asked.

  "Yes."

  "Shame raccoons don't eat bugs," Zaire snickered.

  Gibbie shot her an icy look.

  "How come we never saw you?" I asked, looking at a creature right out of one of our fantasy books.

  "Oh, JoAnn knew I was there," Gibbie squeaked. "Every time she poked her lime green gloves in my home, she went inside yelling for the Benadryl, now didn't you, lady?"

  "That was you?" JoAnn howled. She moved closer to the offending incongruity, her finger going for his chest. The fairy flew out of her reach and landed on Paul's other shoulder.

  "Bet your ass!" Gibbie hooded his eyes at JoAnn.

  Mom still had her hand over her mouth as she followed the conversation.

  "For a little shit, you got big balls," Zaire said with a laugh.

  "So, you're the spy that squealed to Marcus about us?" I snapped.

  "Not me. The troll's the stoolie," Gibbie shrieked at a pitch that made my ears hurt. "A real pain in the butt too. He lives under your dock."

  Paul shuffled from one foot to the other looking guilty.

  Jeni smiled. "A fairy in our rock garden and a troll under the dock?"

  "A troll?" I immediately thought about the rock with arms at the boat dock earlier. "Just exactly what does a troll look like?"

  "A big, ugly, obnoxious piece of mortar." Gibbie pointed at Zaire. "And he's not fond of you, little black woman."

  "How does a troll have contact with a vampire?" Jeni asked.

  "You made me itch?" JoAnn was still several pages behind the rest of us.

  "I feel like stomping some troll ass," Zaire interrupted.

  "I wouldn't screw with the troll if I were you, little black woman," Gibbie warned, hanging from the wolf's earlobe like an earring.

  "Can you buy explosives on the internet?" Mom asked.

  I was slowly losing my mind. I shook my head a couple of times and closed my eyes, but when I opened them, they were all still standing there.

  "I don't need explosives. I got me a big ass shotgun in the boat." Zaire's silver eyes shot daggers at Gibbie.

  "How do you know it was the troll?" I casually interrupted, as if I weren't talking to a two-inch creature with wings about a troll that lives under my dock. Any minute now I was going to wake up in some insane asylum coming down off a medication high.

  "I followed him across the lake to the bridge on the other side," Gibbie stated. "He met with one of Dorius' cronies, Warren, and they had a long chat. He's been over there several times since. Dorius has enough shit on you guys to fry your asses."

  "How about a sandblaster? Whaddaya figure one of those would cost?" Mom asked.

  Paul swayed nervously under Gibbie.

  "Screw Dorius, I'm not goin' down without a fight!" Zaire's face was two inches from Paul's nose.

  "Little black woman, one more word about kicking someone's ass, anyone's ass, and I dust your ass." Gibbie flew behind her making a shrill noise with his wings. She whipped around reaching for him with angry eyes. Her fangs extended and retracted. Not a good sign.

  "Do they make a handheld, battery operated saw that cuts rock?" Mom asked.

  "Call me that again you leprechaun wannabe, and Rover's gonna be pulling those wings outta your butt cheeks," Zaire growled through clenched teeth, reaching to swat at him again.

  With a wide grin and a flamboyant swing of his sword, Gibbie zipped through the air and swung from the bottom of the light fixture. With the rebellious tone of a six-foot swashbuckler, he chanted, "Little bitty black-woman, spouting lots o' flack! Little bitty black-woman better watch her back!" He cocked his head and buzzed from the fixture, hovering in front of Zaire's face.

  "It's African-American, bug."

  "Weeell eexcuuuse me, your highness. Cuz all I see is a plain ole black vamp with her thong up her ass," he said, with a flutter of wings that blew Zaire's hair in her eyes.

  "Did'ya find that flyswatter, Mom?" Zaire gave her hair an angry puff as she strutted around the kitchen, making a big deal out of searching the counters. She finally settled on an old newspaper that she rolled up and turned at him.

  "Oh, hell yeah, bring it on little black be-otch!" Gibbie zigzagged in front of her face, a blur of red sparkles, his sword swinging dangerously close to her nose.

  We all watched as she did a boxer shuffle, combined with a few swings of the newspaper. He only screeched louder, avoiding every move she made.

  Although I was amused watching Zaire try to swat a fairy, I tried to nip it. "Alright Zaire, I think we have enough to worry about with head hunting vampires, a rock that squeals like a pig, and Lon Chaney over there. So knock it off because if you keep it up, all I have to work with here is an old lady sporting a dildo and my idiot sister."

  "What am I, pond sludge?" Resi asked.

  "Look, screw these two. We can take 'em." Zaire whipped the newspaper in an arc over her head.

  "What about a jackhammer?" Mom asked from the computer, clearly intent on decimating the troll.

  Gibbie flew in a flash of orange sparkles and abruptly stopped one inch from her nose. "Get your undies out of your ass. We came to help all of you! Well, except JoAnn. I don't like her." Gibbie pushed his cute little eyebrows together, pointing a small finger at my sister.

  The wolf's chest rumbled. "I told you the day I met you that I worked for them. I also told you to contact them as soon as you got the package. You did not do that."

  "We called and ordered blood and asked to speak to the council, but Buffy wouldn't let us," Resi said.

  Jeni added, "Paul, I personally emailed Dorius and explained the girl's actions as well as the fact that we read the book and they were now playing by the rules. We got no response. They did send them the blood Mom ordered, so the girls thought our explanation was accepted."

  Gibbie fluttered around Jeni as she spoke, wings humming a high-pitched buzz.

  Paul turned to me. "I believe I made it perfectly clear that you would need to make an appointment. Now I'll have to take all of you to them and ex
plain as best as I can that it was my error, not yours." The wolf's eyes found Jeni. "I don't make mistakes, so let's hope they buy it."

  "I'm not going anywhere with you, flea bag," Zaire growled.

  Gibbie landed on Resi's shoulder and adjusted his sash. "Little black woman, Dorius has an army of vampires and I've seen what they're capable of. You won't win this one and your attitude is going to get all of us killed."

  "If you think any of us are just gonna waltz outta here with you two you're nuts!" Zaire tried another poke with the newspaper. Wings buzzing like a band saw, the fairy flew three circles around her and landed on Paul's shoulder.

  "I'm with Zaire," Mom shouted over her shoulder. "Ohio Power Tools has everything we need for troll blasting. Placing an order…" she sang.

  "We were thinking about going north," Jeni said, ignoring both of them.

  Gibbie flew up to the kitchen light fixture, perched on its edge and studied us.

  "Dorius will find you wherever you go, Jeni," Paul warned. "It's not a fight your family has a chance of winning."

  "Maybe not, but I'm gettin' a piece of the big-mouth troll," Mom spat. "He's gonna be minus one butt cheek when I'm done with him." She looked at me. "Susan, I need your debit card number. I left mine at home - unless you want me to have them send this stuff COD."

  "I told you guys we should've just made an appointment," JoAnn hissed, her eyebrows meeting in the center of her forehead.

  Paul ignored everyone but Jeni. "The only chance you have is to talk to Marcus. He seems to have a reason for wanting all of you to remain undead."

  "Ladies, it's time to pay the devil his due." Jeni smiled up at Paul.

  "The hell you say," Mom snapped, fingers wagging at me. "Debit card, Susan."

  "I think we should find someplace public where they can't attack us," I said, making the decision final.

  "That's a good idea," Resi agreed.

  "Not Little Joe's!" JoAnn added.

  "How about the bowling alley?" Zaire asked with a big smile.

  "Think they'll bring the troll?" Mom queried, her finger hovering over the send key.

  24

  Who let the dogs out…who…who…

  Dorius flipped open the phone on the table in front of him. "Cujo, you better have good news for me."

  "I just picked up the women and they're willing to meet you in a bowling alley tonight, Dorius." Paul's voice wafted from the phone.

  "I am not going to a bowling alley. Bring them here," Dorius growled.

  Marcus smiled as he shuffled through a pile of the girl's mail he held in his hands.

  "Look, we're not stupid," a woman's voice announced. "If you want to meet us, we'll be waiting at 'Meet Me On The Alley' in Sliver Pines Plaza."

  "What the hell?" Warren said. "It'll be a cold day in hell before we hit a bowling alley, right?" He raised an eyebrow at Dorius.

  "Ohhh, this is going to be amusing," Marcus said. "Where's your sense of humor, Warren?"

  "This is getting out of hand," Camillio shouted.

  "Susan, tell them to bring bowling shoes if they have them," another woman suggested.

  "Jesus, JoAnn," someone else said. "You always know how to take the fun out of everything."

  Marcus laughed. "Tell them we're looking forward to meeting them, Dorius."

  Dorius' chest rumbled.

  "Either you meet us at the bowling alley or we catch a plane out of here," the phone blared.

  "Guess it's on to the bowling alley." Marcus smiled.

  "I'll call you with directions when we arrive," Paul said.

  "The God's be damned!" Dorius hissed and flipped the phone closed.

  A pretty girl…is like a melody…

  Dorius glared at the phone and flipped the lid back open. "Yesss, Dennis?"

  "Christopher asked me to take him to Key West and when I refused he huffed off in a dither. I gave him about an hour to calm down and went looking for him. Buffy said a yellow cab picked him up out front. I high-tailed it off to the beach - a seagull shit on my new shirt - it's ruined, and he wasn't even there. I'm really getting tired of sand in my shoes, Dorius. When are you getting back?"

  "I told you not to let him out of your sight. How long has he been gone?" A deep rumble came from Dorius' throat.

  Marcus' eyes twinkled as he flipped a page of a daily planner.

  "Oh, don't get your tightie-whities in a wad." Dennis' disgusted sigh came through the phone. "He'll be back with his surfboard by morning. And I deserve a break anyway. I'm sure he's out playing 'Beach Blanket Bingo' with his new friends. How much trouble can he get into in one night?"

  Marcus raised an eyebrow at Dorius.

  Dorius ignored it. "Call the cab company he hired and find him, pronto. I have enough here to worry about. Handle it." Dorius flipped the phone closed, and glared at Marcus. "What?"

  "You know what Christopher is doing, don't you?" Marcus asked.

  "Why don't you tell me," Dorius huffed.

  Marcus shook his head. "You tease him about his size, repeatedly. You throw your women friends up in his face, knowing he will never have one. You won't let him work with the Rouge Hunters and you demand he be something he's not - a child. He's just throwing it back at you, Dorius. He's doing exactly what you've requested him to do. You've created this monster. He's taunting you with this surfing thing."

  "I don't give a rat’s ass what he does. He's not hunting with my rogues. He's not capable of it and you know it."

  "Maybe you should give him a chance to prove you right." Marcus smiled.

  "I think it's time we leave for the bowling alley." Dorius pulled the planner out of Marcus' hand and tossed it on the table.

  "Not until the wolf calls to tell us they've arrived, brother dear," Marcus quipped. "It seems like the ladies are calling all the shots."

  Christopher stood outside a bungalow door in Key West holding Buster's leash, sizing up a tall scruffy young man in a pair of holey jeans.

  "We don't want any, kid," the scruffy guy said. "Go find your mother, cuz whatever you're sellin', I ain't buyin'."

  "You Dean 'the Cuda' Swellter?" Christopher asked.

  "Who's askin'?"

  "Never mind who's askin'. Are you Dean or what, fuck-wad?"

  Buster growled.

  "Whoa, man. You're just way too damn little to be givin' me shit, dude. That dog bite?"

  A short, stocky boy dressed in a brightly colored pair of jams sauntered up to the door and leaned on the threshold, surveying Christopher through lazy eyes.

  "Shit, it's just a kid. Whaddya want, fella?" Jams boy asked, scratching his crotch with one hand, holding a joint with the other.

  "I'm not a kid. I'm older than both of you two dipwads and I'm looking for Dean. Which one of you assholes would that be?"

  The two boys started giggling. The one in the jams slid down the door to the lime-green, shag carpet. Laughing hard, the dead joint stuck in a roach clip in his hand, he said, "He's so fucking cute. Look at those dreads, man. You think he's really small or is it the weed, cuz he sounds older than he looks. Do I look that small? This stuff is good shit." He started looking himself over, twisting around on the carpet. He lost interest and sucked hard on the joint, feeling around his pocket-less shorts.

  The other kid in the jeans looked at his chest, running his hand over his stomach. "Wow, dude, I'm like wasting away here. Look, you can see my freakin' ribs, man. No shit. Let's go take another hit. I'm trippin', man. We got some fuckin'-trip, shroom-weed or something! Too fuckin' cool!"

  "No shit. If we hit it again you think we'll disappear, dude?" The guy in the jams asked as he wiggled his toes, watching them in awe as if they were not part of his body.

  "You guys do much jail time?" Christopher asked.

  Both kids sucked in a breath and stared at him. Jams boy plucked the joint off the roach clip and stuffed it in his mouth, swallowing hard. The guy in the jeans went back to searching his chest for body fat.

  "You the fucking hea
t? No fucking way, man," Jams boy mumbled as he tried to choke down the rest of the joint.

  Buster stood up, teeth bared, growling.

  "Whoa, is that like, one of those cop dogs? Shit!" the kid in the jeans asked, no longer tripping on his lack of body fat. He started backing up.

  "Buster! Sit!"

  Buster sat.

  "He's not a police dog and I'm not a cop. Who's Dean?"

  Both kids pointed at each other.

  Twenty minutes later: "Hey dude, how about a hit off that bong, man?" Christopher sat on the floor of the bungalow, pillows surrounding him on a dirty shag carpet. Buster snored beside him.

  "How'd you say you found me?" Dean stared at Christopher. His stringy blond hair hung around his bare chest, his lanky body sprawled over a futon, bare feet stretched out in front of him.

  "I told you man, I Googled you. You're a legend, Dean. You made it all the way to Cuba on your Dewey Weber, man. That's way too cool, dude." Christopher turned to look at the surfboard leaning against the wall by the door.

  "We got too much water in this fucker," Dave said, tipping a large bong over a plastic cup half filled with soda. "It's hard to get continuous suck-age, dude."

  "Yeah, but my fucking father found me before I hit the beach. Friggin' hated, man," Dean said through a smoky haze.

  "You got there, Dean. You made it all the way to Cuba, man." David leaned against the futon at Dean's feet. He took a big hit off the two-foot party bong in front of him, then passed it to Dean, sucking in his breath. "Sooo fucking cool."

  Dean took a hit, bubbles floating around under the stem as the tube filled with smoke. He moved his finger off the carb, sucked in more air and passed it to Christopher.

  Christopher shoved three pillows under his ass, leaned the bong at face level and stuffed his whole mouth and nose in the mouthpiece. He flicked his Bic to the bowl, covered the rush hole on the side of the chamber with his big toe and sucked in a nice big hit. He held his breath, smiling at Dean.

  "Shit man, this stuff is choice. You look three feet tall. How old are you, dude?" Dean asked.

  "I'm older than you, rag-ass. I'm just a little person. You got a problem with that?" Christopher let out a long puff of smoke, handing the bong back to David, who started giggling.