Maudlin's Mayhem (Bewitching Bedlam Book 2)

by Yasmine Galenorn

  Navigating wasn’t nearly as difficult as I had thought. I just kept my thumb straight and used one hand to grasp the steering wheel. I passed the central park in the town square, where it was all decked out for Ostara. Bedlam celebrated all the holidays with gusto, and every six weeks like clockwork, the park would spring to life in a flurry of decorations marking the season. A group of schoolchildren were there, testing out their magic as they enchanted the bird baths and other statues to glimmer and glow.

  The Blue Jinn was along Exxo Street, and I managed to find a parking space in the crowded lot. As I entered the diner, the noise and aromas from the lounge hit full force and I realized I was starving. The Blue Jinn had a stage for live music and dinner theater, and the lounge for drinks and finger food. I motioned to the hostess.

  “I’m joining Sandy Clauson.”

  She consulted her table chart and then nodded, motioning to one of the nearby waitresses. “Please escort Ms. Gallowglass to table 14B.”

  I followed the waitress, who led me to a small booth near the windows overlooking the outdoor seating area. It was still too cool and rainy to sit outside, but the center fountain in the courtyard was flowing. It was a statue in the shape of a dolphin leaping out of the water, and water burbled out of its blowhole, and also from its mouth.

  Sandy was already in the booth, poring over a menu, a tequila sunrise in hand. She was still wearing her sunglasses, and that meant something was up. She glanced up when I arrived.

  “I’m glad you made it.” She pointed to her drink. “Want one?”

  I shook my head. “Water, please, and raspberry herb tea. I took a pain pill and the doctor suggested not mixing them with alcohol. While they won’t make me drowsy on their own, he said that the combination would put me out like a light.”

  “Pain pill?” Sandy lowered her glasses and, judging by the red swollen eyes, I knew she had been crying.

  “Um hmm.” I held up my thumb. “Sprained it a good one at the grocery store.” I waited until the waitress left to get my drinks and then leaned forward. “What’s going on? You look like you’ve had one hell of a cry-fest.”

  She pressed her lips together, then nodded. “Yeah. I have.”

  A sudden fear ran through me. “Not Max…or Jenna or Mr. Peabody? Are they all right?”

  Again, Sandy nodded. “Yeah, they are. But you know I was supposed to go to a board meeting today?”

  “Right, for your restaurants.”

  “Well, while I was changing for it, I got a call. My ex died. He had a heart attack at five-thirty this morning. They couldn’t get hold of me till about an hour ago. I can’t believe he’s gone.” She paused, then added, “And I can’t believe that I still care this much,” as a sob escaped her throat.

  I pressed my lips together. Finally, I reached my good hand across the table and took her hand in mine. “I’m not surprised. You two were friends. He couldn’t help it that he didn’t realize he was gay until later on in life. Or at least, wasn’t ready to admit it to himself. And you guys…you still love each other. How many times have you had dinner together in the past few years?”

  She pulled out a tissue and blew her nose. “Once a month, on the clock. Every month. Yeah, we are…were…still friends. I wanted the best for him and he wanted me to be happy. After I got over the initial shock, I knew that I didn’t want to carry a grudge.”

  I leaned across the table and took her hands in mine, squeezing her fingers gently. “Sandy, if you didn’t care about him, then you wouldn’t be hurting. Face it, you guys were meant to be in each other’s lives. Just not the way you originally thought.”

  She worried her lip, holding tight to my hands. “You know he broke up with his boyfriend recently? His mother and father weren’t happy at all when they found out he had left me and that there weren’t going to be any grandbabies. I’m going to have to take care of the arrangements for the general service.” She paused. “He focused more on his business than his magic, but would you preside over the Cord Cutting when it’s time?”

  I patted her hand as I let go. “Of course. I’d be happy to help. I liked Bart.”

  That much was true. Though I had never quite forgiven him for hurting Sandy the way he had, I also liked the guy. We had had many a late-night movie binge together, the three of us, until I had married Craig and Bart came out.

  “Thanks. So tell me, what happened to your thumb? And how’s Bubba doing? Did you get to see him?”

  “Are you sure you want to know? You must be swimming in thoughts—”

  “No, take my mind off Bart, please.” She sounded so forlorn that I mustered up a gusto I didn’t feel and, as we segued onto other subjects, I found myself thinking about how it never failed to shock when a friend died. No matter how many people had left your life, you never got used to it.

  I WAS WALKING back to my CR-V when the sound of skidding tires filled my ears and I whirled to see an out-of-control pickup truck come sailing my way. Terror fueling my reflexes, I leaped out of the way just in time to avoid being creamed by the massive vehicle. The truck spun out, slamming into the side of the parking lot, which was basically a concrete retaining wall separating the restaurant from a small park. The driver was trapped, unable to get his door open. I raced toward the truck, Sandy hot on my heels, as a trail of gasoline trickled down from the gas tank.

  “Crap—gas! Nobody light up!” I screamed at a couple of guys headed toward the truck. One of them was dangling a cigarette from his lips.

  He must have heard me, because he came to a halt, falling forward as he lost his balance. The sudden jolt dislodged the cigarette and it flew out of his mouth, landing in the pooling gas. Sandy and I froze as it blazed to life, the flame traveling up the trickle of gas into the gas tank. An explosion reverberated through the air as the truck caught fire.

  Frantic—the driver was still trapped—I raised my arms and focused on the fire. Fire was my element. Fire was my strength.

  Flames eat flames, please depart.

  Veil of flames, I bid thee part.

  Open the way, bridge a path,

  Hold back the fire’s wrath.

  As I chanted the spell, a break in the crackling flames opened up right in front of the passenger-side door. I focused on keeping the flames apart as Sandy ran forward. She grabbed the door handle and screamed—the metal was hot—but she didn’t let go till she had wrested it open. By then the other man—the one without the cigarette—was by her side. He motioned for her to move. He crawled in the cab of the truck and a moment later, as I struggled to keep the hungry flames from gobbling up the truck, he emerged, dragging the unconscious driver. Sandy was calling 9-1-1 and we could hear sirens in the near distance.

  “Clear—he was the only one in the truck!” the man called to me.

  But the man who had been smoking was unconscious, as well. The force had knocked him silly, and a few wisps of the flame were heading directly for him across the pavement. Another bystander darted in to drag him out of the way. As everybody cleared from the path of the flames, I released them and they roared together, a ravenous monster of flame and fire, as thick black smoke rose from the truck.

  The fire department and ambulance rolled into the parking lot and I hurried over to Sandy. Her right hand was burned, blistered across the pad directly below her fingers where she had grabbed hold of the handle. As the medics began to assess the condition of the two men, I made her join them to be treated.

  “I’m all right—”

  “You are not. Those are at least second-degree burns. Now hush up and let them treat you.”

  She nodded, tears in her eyes. “They hurt.”

  I gathered her in my arms and kissed her forehead. “I know they do. We’ll do some healing work on them later, after the process has started.”

  She sat down on the tailgate of the medic unit. I wandered over to watch the burning truck. Why had the driver lost control? Was it just coincidence? But I reall
y didn’t believe in coincidence, and I had the sneaking suspicion that whatever force had hexed Bubba, had also caused my bank account to be pirated, and my thumb to be sprained. And now, I had almost been hit by a truck. When that hadn’t happened, two men I didn’t even know and Sandy had ended up taking the brunt of the attack. Whatever was going on, it was clear that I was being targeted and anybody around me was in danger because of it.

  Chapter 9

  DELIA SHOWED UP, recording what information she could find. Then, after the men were taken to the hospital and Sandy’s hand was tended to, and the fire department managed to put out the fire, Sandy and I sat in my car, staring at the restaurant.

  “Well, this proves it, Sandy. Somebody cast a hex on me and if anybody gets in the way, it puts them in danger. I have to find out who’s responsible.” I leaned forward, resting my head on the steering wheel. “I’d cast a Divining spell but I’m not sure it would work in this case. If I’m being cursed, then my magic is probably a little wonky. I’m almost afraid to find out.”

  “At least you were able to hold back the flames.” Sandy regarded her hand. “It’s been a shitty day all the way around, hasn’t it?”

  I nodded. “Last night wasn’t much better. Come back to my house?”

  “Sure. Better to hang together when the shit hits the fan than try to dodge it alone.”

  “I feel like a magical Typhoid Mary.”

  “Well, you don’t look it, if that’s any comfort.” And with that, she returned to her own car and followed me back to my place.

  IT WAS THREE p.m. by the time we got back to the house, and Thornton took one look at our bandaged hands and began mixing a pitcher of margaritas. The pain pill had worn off with my adrenaline, so I decided against a second one. Self-medicating sounded better. I broke out the chocolate sandwich cookies and cheese tortilla chips. Lunch seemed a million miles away and holding back those flames had been difficult, at best.

  As we retreated to the parlor, I glanced around.

  “Bubba?” But the moment the name was out of my mouth, I stopped. Bubba wasn’t here, I reminded myself. Bursting into tears, I tossed the food on the coffee table and slouched down on the sofa, crossing my arms across my stomach as I leaned forward, unable to do anything but cry.

  “I’m sorry,” I blubbered. “I can’t stop thinking about Bubba.”

  Sandy sat next to me, reaching out to brush my hair back from my face. “Maddy, it’s okay to cry. You love him. He’s part of your life. He’s been part of your life for hundreds of years, and you guys have a special bond.”

  “I want that bond to be with a fluffy orange cjinn, not some confused ab-happy human,” I stuttered through the tears.

  “I know. We’ll figure this out. I promise you, we will.” She frowned, looking around. “Dry your eyes. I’m going to ask some questions that you might not have been able to think of given the state you’re in. First: when did weird crap start happening? I don’t mean run-of-the-mill weird crap, but really oddball stuff?”

  I hiccupped, trying to think. She handed me a tissue and I wiped my eyes, then blew my nose. I had lost my housekeeper, but that was less hex and more hormones.

  “I guess…with the money in my bank account disappearing. Then Bubba. I had an accident in the store today and hurt my thumb. Then the truck.” I paused, then raised my eyes to meet her gaze. “You don’t think Bart…”

  Sandy slowly shook her head. “No, love. Bart wasn’t good at keeping his health up, and he had a history of heart disease in his family. The signs were all there, he just didn’t read them until too late.”

  “I wonder what’s going to happen next?” I felt queasy as a future of one disaster after another opened up before me.

  “Stop right there. We don’t know what’s going to happen and there’s no use borrowing trouble. Hold off on speculation until we figure out what the hex is. Now, did—” she paused as my cell phone rang.

  I glanced at the Caller ID. Dr. Farrows. Feeling a lump of panic rise in my throat, I answered. “Hello? Is Bubba okay?” The words poured out and I gulped a sob at the end.

  “Bubba’s fine, he’s still in stasis,” he said. “I just thought you might like to know that I’ve managed to dig up some information on the type of hex that hit Bubba.”

  Breathing deeply, I put him on speakerphone. “Anything you can tell me would help. I’ve had another not-so-fun-filled day.”

  “Well, the hex is pretty specific. It seems to be a form of Dirt Magic.”

  I stared at the phone. “Dirt Magic? Isn’t that a little like Voudou?”

  “Yes, though Dirt Magic is more street-magic, not formalized ritual. The only people I know who use Dirt Magic have origins either in the South, or they came over from the Old Country.”

  “Right. That I knew.”

  Dirt Magic was a slapdash form of Old World hexing—real Baba Yaga–level curses that could easily travel down through families. Though it was often seen as a poor man’s magical system, the realities were that Dirt Magic was complex and utilized a wide variety of roots. It required precision in weaving the roots to produce the required effect. Dirt Magic had a lot in common with Voudou, and sometimes, the practice of one led right into the practice of the other.

  “You have to find the object that brought it into the house. Dirt Magic always requires an anchor. I think you’ll find the hex came in attached to something, and that something most likely has a glamour over it so that you can’t spot it. That’s all I can tell you for now, but I’ll try to find out more.”

  As he hung up, I turned to Sandy. “Crap. Somebody’s using Dirt Magic on me.”

  Sandy stared at me. “Dirt Magic? That can be nasty juju. The practitioners usually don’t worry about backlash because by the time they cast spells like that, they’re powerful enough to deflect most retaliation from their enemies.” She nodded at the fire in the fireplace. “You should put that out. You know how much Dirt Magic likes fire. And you run fire, love.”

  I ran fire, Sandy ran air magic, and Fata had run water magic. Together, we had mustered up enough earth magic to form a balanced arena. But fire fueled a lot of hexes, and my own fire was probably stoking the flames.

  “Crap. That means I should restrain my magic as much as I can until I find what’s anchoring the spell, because any spark of fire could trigger something else to happen.”

  “Were you using flame before the accident in the parking lot?”

  I thought back. “No, but I’ve been thinking about the night I found Bubba, and I was running flame strong that night. And I’ve been ticked off right and left, which strengthens the fire. In fact, I recently came to the conclusion that I need to start chilling out more because the flames seem to be building and I don’t want them to get out of hand.”

  Sandy snapped her fingers. “Dirt Magic often goes hand in hand with Voudou. And who do we know who used Voudou?”

  I frowned, trying to go through the miles-long mental checklist of magical friends in my circle. “I don’t think I know anybody.”

  “Oh, yes, you do. But she’s not part of the magical society here on Bedlam. Maddy, we do know someone who was a Voudou priestess. Essie Vanderbilt. Remember, she’s the granddaughter of Marie Laveau.”

  Crap. I had totally spaced that fact. “You don’t think Essie’s after me again?”

  “You’re now the High Priestess of the coven, and she no longer has her fingers in the pie because Linda is in the Witches’ Protection Program.” Sandy suddenly stopped talking, her fingers on her lips.

  Linda had been the High Priestess until recently. She and her daughter—whom Essie had essentially held hostage—were now in the Witches’ Protection Program. Even though we understood why Linda had done what she had, the fact was she compromised both the Moonrise Coven and the entire community of Bedlam by allowing Essie to influence her. Essie didn’t appreciate our interference, nor did she appreciate my refusal to play ball with her.


  Sandy looked around till she found a notepad and scribbled out a note.

  You think maybe the house is bugged?

  I frowned. I hadn’t even thought of that possibility. I don’t know, I wrote.

  Just then, Thornton came in. He stared at us, a puzzled look on his face. “Is something wrong?”

  I flashed Sandy a warning look. “Not really, Thornton. We just… Would you bring us a couple bottles of water, please?”

  He excused himself and, a moment later, returned with our water. I glanced at them, making sure the seals hadn’t been broken, and then handed them to him.

  “If you could open these, please? With Sandy’s burn and my sprained thumb, we have a bit of an issue with lids right now.”

  “Sure thing, Maddy.” He twisted open the caps, then excused himself again and shut the door behind him.

  I felt a bout of paranoia growing. The thought that Essie might have cast a hex on me was scary enough, but what if she had somehow bugged my house? I held out my notepad, scribbling another sentence.

  Do you know if Essie can work Dirt Magic as well as Voudou? I need to talk to Auntie Tautau. She could tell what’s wrong, I’m certain of it. But she was gone when I stopped there this morning.

  Sandy took a long pull on the bottle, then motioned for me to follow her. We traipsed into the backyard, shutting the kitchen door behind us. I had bought a picnic table and benches once the snow had melted, and now we wandered over to sit under one of the apple trees, ignoring the chill.

  “All right,” Sandy said. “I wouldn’t put it past Essie to learn all she could about that. Most vampires don’t bother with magic, but the fact is, Essie will do whatever it takes to protect her seat on the throne, and she knows better than to trust you. She knows she can’t manipulate you. And we know she wants to establish more than just her penny ante kingdom here.”