by DC Thome
“Hunter?”
No answer.
I got out of bed, rapped on the bathroom door frame and called again. Still no answer, but now I heard the shower running. I smiled and stepped inside to take a peek. Who doesn’t appreciate a wet, naked man first thing in the morning?
The problem was, Hunter wasn’t there.
I turned off the water and glanced through the tiny window. He wasn’t behind the cabin, either. Out gathering firewood? Scavenging for lichens to mix into vegan pancakes? The air in the bathroom smelled like strawberries, which I hate. But Hunter wouldn’t know that. He must have picked some to surprise me. So sweet. As long as only he ate them. As far as I’m concerned, strawberries? Right there with turkey burgers. Ick.
I peeked out the front door and called his name but heard only the birds. I retrieved my boots, panties and bustier, got dressed and went outside.
“Hunter?”
I walked up the path toward the spring, my voice growing more insistent.
“Hunter?”
A little bird with black feathers and gold flecks on its wings lit on a branch, chitting and squawking. I suddenly missed Abigail, since her specialty is translating animal and magical languages. “Sorry,” I said, “no speaka de birdalese.”
The bird rolled its eyes and flitted away.
“You wouldn’t treat a fucking Disney princess that way!” I yelled.
I’d awakened in a Cinderella world, but I was starting to feel like a pumpkin. Maybe I was gun-shy from all the times I’d awakened alone after sleeping with warlocks. Those shits are downright allergic to morning. But Hunter? He’s not that kind of guy.
I stopped short. He really isn’t. And, besides, no guy runs out on a girl when it’s his house.
Especially without turning off the shower.
My annoyance morphed into panic. Could there have been an emergency? Were the honey badgers revolting again, advancing on Douchecanoe? Had Hunter been in an accident and thrown into a ditch by the side of the road, where, at that moment, he was weakly calling my name with his last, dying breath? Goddess with chocolate-covered pretzels for nipple rings—I sound like my mother!
And, just like my mother, I started giving myself advice. Calm down. Eat breakfast. Put on actual clothes. Then I could search the roadside ditches.
I swept my hand in an arc across my body and transported back to my house.
***
By the time I landed in my bedroom, forty milliseconds later, I’d managed to loosen the bustier ties and push the thing up over my face. I was in a hurry to go looking for Hunter.
But the first thing I saw as I yanked the bustier above my head was a bunch of people staring at me. And my panties and knee-high boots.
Pretty much all the women I knew in Douchecanoe were crowded onto my bed, drinking coffee and nibbling snacks from fancy paper plates. Five shifter ladies—Fluffy Quill the porcupine, Camille Leone the wall lizard, Lady the dog, Megyyn the fox and Jane the doe, plus her gay brother, Pillsbury—sat along one side. Teddie the bear shifter and Summer the elk shifter, whom I’d inadvertently freed from the grips of the Orgasmism, were also there, along with one non-shifter magical, Ashley Banshee. She’s a banshee. You can tell. It’s right there in her name.
The only person—thing?—in the room I didn’t know was a chubby two-foot tall troll who looked like the Goddessawful dolls you see in those arcade games with the claw that never grabs anything. Pointy ears. Pink hair shooting from her scalp. Gigantic eyes that would give a squid the creeps. Even a jade green jewel in her navel.
At the head of the bed sat Abigail atop a stack of pillows—my pillows—like a queen holding court.
I inched the bustier back down over my shoulders. “Good morning…ladies and dude and”—I looked at the troll—“whatever.”
They nodded back as though they regularly hung out in other people’s bedrooms.
“Abigail,” I said sweetly, “what the fuck is going on?”
“The ladies wanted to see you.”
Pillsbury pouted. “I did, too.”
“Yes, I could have guessed that part.” I smiled at the crowd, leaned close to my familiar and whispered through clenched teeth. “But why are they in my bedroom?”
“You said I could use it.”
“I didn’t give permission, I acquiesced. For sleeping. By yourself. Not for hosting a Goddessdamn kaffeeklatsch.”
Camille, who, for obvious reasons, stood against the wall next to the window, said, “Are we intruding, Dr. Pru?”
“Oh, no, Camille. I just…wasn’t expecting company.” And I need to go find Hunter.
“We can see that.” Pillsbury slapped his doopadimaggio. “But, girl, you are totally rockin’ that thong. Ooh-la-la!”
“Not a thong, Pill,” I said. “You should know that.”
Megyyn interrupted in a gravelly voice at odds with her fine features. “We met on the front porch, but your hideous—um, interesting-looking—little dog said we should come up here. For refreshments.”
“I had the gluten-free, sugar-free, nut-free bakery in the building where you work deliver them,” Abigail said.
Camille spat out a bite of éclair. “The expensive one?”
“It’s all right,” I said. “Anything for friends…but still…what the hell, ladies?”
Megyyn put down her plate. “When we got up this morning, something weird was going on.”
“Or getting gone.” Lady sighed and made puppy dog eyes. “All gone—without a whiff of a trail.”
I felt myself go pale. “What do you mean?”
Ashley Banshee floated toward me, her tattered, translucent gown flowing in a breeze that didn’t seem to affect anyone else, and shrieked through her jagged teeth, “AIIIIIIIIIIYEEEEEEGHHHH!”
Goddess wearing pinwheel pasties—are my fucking ears bleeding? “Abigail,” I gritted, “what did she say?”
“Something about men and forks.”
“Men and fucking forks?”
“I didn’t hear it all. Ask her to say it again.”
“No!” I smiled at Ashley. “I mean, maybe someone else—”
“Not menforks,” Megyyn said. “Menfolk.”
My heart froze. Everyone looked at me expectantly. “Your menfolk what?”
“Oh, fer Goddess out loud,” Megyyn said, “they went missing.”
“All of them?”
“Poof,” Megyyn said, throwing up her arms. “Gone. Every single one.”
My heart unfroze and raced like a pack of winged monkeys. “Does anyone have any idea what happened?”
The troll jumped to her feet—I hadn’t realized she was sitting—pointed the three stubby fingers of her left hand at Ashley and squeaked in a sickeningly cute voice, “It’s that whore’s fault!”
Ashley’s face twisted into a homicidal scowl. “AIIIIIIIIIIYEEEEEEGHHHH!”
The troll leapt at Ashley’s face and sank her blue teeth into the banshee’s nose. The shrieking that followed approximated the sound of a jetliner crashing into a runaway locomotive. And that was just me. Add the ungoddessly noises that the two catfighting monster girls were making, and it sounded like one nanosecond after the start of Armageddon.
Ashley tore the troll—along with a considerable chunk of skin—from her face and threw her against the far wall. The troll bounced up as if made of rubber and flung her round body at Ashley, who herself was in mid-fling.
At which point I blasted them both with a freeze ray. “Tell me right now,” I snarled, as they hung in the air just inches apart. “What in the name of Hecuba’s pubes is your problem?”
Ashley and the troll waggled their lips, but the freeze ray made it impossible for them to speak. Thank Goddess. Megyyn stepped up. “Didn’t you know that Dolly was Ashley’s husband’s first wife?”
Of course the troll’s name is Dolly. “Billy G. Gruff? And he disappeared last night?”
Megyyn—and everyone else—nodded.
I pointed at the troll. “I’m go
ing to unfreeze just enough of you so you can talk. But if you do anything more than answer my questions, I’ll fucking cement your lips together forever.”
There was fire in Dolly’s eyes, but I twirled my finger in a tiny circle to thaw her lips. “My first question,” I said, “is ‘Why do you think Ashley had something to do with the men disappearing?’”
Dolly sneered. “Because ASSley—the green-skinned trollop—was there, at the Cozy Coven. With Billy G.”
“Let me guess. You were trolling them.”
“I’m a troll. It’s what I do.”
“Okay, but what about all the men, not just Billy G?”
Ashley struggled harder and harder against the freeze spell, so I said, “I’m going to unfreeze you both, but you have to promise not to kill each other in my bedroom. There is no killing allowed in my bedroom.”
Dolly’s eyes lit up. “Someplace else, though?”
“What you do beyond these walls is your business.” I planted my feet, held up my hands in case I needed to keep them apart, and twitched my nose. Of course they started toward each other, but a jolt of silver sparks from my palms halted them mid-pounce.
“Ashley”—I braced myself—“what do you think?”
“AIIIIIIIIIIYEEEEEEGHHHH!”
Trying to ignore the ringing in my ears, I said, “Abigail—translation.”
“She said, ‘Dolly’s a whore.’”
Now that we know who the whores are... “So, Dolly, do you have any specific ideas about what happened at the Cozy Coven?”
“Specifically,” she squeaked, “when ASSley got there, all the men disappeared. It was just after midnight. One second they were there, and the next, they were gone.”
“All the men were there?”
“Didn’t I just say that?”
“Was Hunter there?”
“What part of ‘all’ do you not understand? It’s only three letters, for Goddess’ sake.”
“Please just answer the question.”
“Hunter was there. He’d just come in. He was naked and his hair was dripping wet, like he’d just stepped out of the shower.”
Goddess in a gas station bathroom! I turned to the other women. “Did you all know your men were there?”
They shared glances.
“Apparently,” Megyyn said. “They all went snafu—”
“Excuse me,” Camille said, “I think you mean ‘AWOL.’”
“Yeah, that, too,” Megyyn said. “In the middle of the night. Sly wasn’t one to sneak out and party with the boys, on account of I’d nip his nose right off his face.”
“None of our guys is like that,” Camille added.
Nods all around.
“Dolly,” I said, “were any other women there—besides Ashley and you?”
“I didn’t notice,” she said. “I was only interested in ASSley.”
“People have been talking all morning,” Camille said. “From what I’ve heard, the only other woman there was the new witch.”
“That’s what I heard, too,” Megyyn said. “The one called Dot.”
That made the winged monkeys in my head race back to the confused but otherwise seemingly harmless old lady in the parking lot. She’s a little strange, but then, so is everyone in Douchecanoe.
“I’ve met her,” I said. “She’s the healer Baba Yaga sent to replace Brigid.”
“But”—Camille’s lip quivered—“why would Baba Yaga send us a healer who would steal our men?”
“We shouldn’t jump to any conclusions.”
“We haven’t jumped to any conclusion,” Megyyn said. “Just one in particular. That she stole our men.”
So every man in town just happened to disappear right after the arrival of a horny, amoral witch. Coincidence? Fuck, no. Then again… “There’s only one way to find out,” I said. “We pay her a visit.”
“I’m up for that,” Lady the dog shifter said. “We all go home and get our pitchforks and—”
“No pitchforks!” I glared at everyone.
Summer the elk shifter pointed straight up. “Knives!”
“No! No knives, either.”
“You’re right, Dr. Pru,” Teddie the bear shifter said. “Baseball bats.”
“What is wrong with you people? No bats or maces or nunchucks.”
“Fucking A!” Jane Doe the deer shifter crossed her arms. “I was just going to say nunchucks.”
“Maces would be cool,” Dolly chimed. “But I prefer boulders. Can we bring boulders?”
“No. Here’s the plan. I’m going to visit Dot—unarmed and without malice. I’ll bring a couple of you with—Megyyn and Camille.”
Teddie grunted. “Why them?”
“Because they’re the only two who didn’t suggest any weapons.”
“I got a couple ideas, if you’d like to hear ’em,” Megyyn said.
My eyes narrowed to slits. “Do you want to go with me?”
Megyyn swallowed hard. “Unarmed sounds good.”
“All right then—”
“AIIIIIIIIIIYEEEEEEGHHHH!”
I covered my ears and looked to Abigail.
“She said she wants to go with, too.”
Her voice is a weapon. “Abigail, please tell Ashley that three people can handle the job. We’ll report back.”
“AIIIIIIIIIIYEEEEEEGHHHH!”
Goddess in a stainless steel halter! “Abigail, please tell Ashley that she can go along—but only if she promises to stop screeching.”
“If she goes, I go,” Dolly said.
“You know I can squish you like a bug.”
“All right,” Dolly said. “Next time, though.”
“So, Abigail, please ask Ashley if she—”
“AIIIIIIIIIIYEEEEEEGHHHH!”
“She says she’s good with that.”
***
I threw on fairly sensible boots and a spandex tank minidress that covered pretty close to half my chest, then teleported Megyyn, Camille, Ashley and me to Dot’s front porch. Where I immediately lost my balance and fell backward.
What the fuck-fuck-fuckity-fuck?
I hit something soft, warm and damp—and saw two bare male legs sticking out in front of me. As Ashley shattered her moratorium on screeching, I writhed to remove what felt like a basketball being shoved up my padoopa.
Camille rushed to my aid. “Did you plan to land on that guy’s face?”
What? “Ewwww! Fuck no!” I tried scrambling to my feet, but something tugging on my dress pulled me back down. Camille and Megyyn each grabbed an arm and jerked me upright—tearing the dress in process.
Still screeching, Ashley zipped around me to deliver a barrage of kicks to the head of some schlep wearing nothing but a striped shirt. I let go of Camille and Megyyn and put my hands on Ashley’s shoulders. Brrrr. I forgot how clammy a banshee can feel. “Ashley! Calm down!”
“AIIIIIIIIIIYEEEEEEGHHHH!”
“Geez, I wish I could understand—”
“I kin tell ya.” All eyes turned to the doorway, where Dot stood in a cheap, short-sleeved seersucker housecoat with half its snap buttons missing. She was also holding a broom—the short kind with an extra wide fan of bristles used in broomsy, a game kind of like tag that dipshit warlocks play, flying at full-throttle in the woods. “She says she was under the impression he was molestin’ ya.”
As a competent healer, Dot understands all magical languages. “Are you sure? It sounded exactly like what she always says.”
Dot came onto the porch. “Banshee’s a complex lingo. Gotta lotta whatchacall nuancies.”
“Ashley—I appreciate you having my back, but, technically, I fell on his face. I don’t think he—”
She opened her mouth to shriek, but I put my finger gently over her lips. Cold lips! Yeek! “It’s okay. I can handle this.”
She gurgled and stepped back. She did not, however, remove her death gaze from the college-age—to paraphrase Ashley—aiiiiiiieeeeeghhhh lying on his back.
“Who are yo
u?” I demanded. “And what’s the big idea?”
“I—I was dreaming that I was a park bench and Nicki Minaj was sitting on me—and then, all of a sudden, a skinny green chick with a chunk out of her nose was totally kicking my head.”
“You dreamt that?”
“Yah. It was totally righteous until the green chick showed up.”
I stepped aside so he could see Ashley.
His bloodshot eyes widened. “Whoa! Was the Nicki Minaj part real, too? Cuz that part was awesome.”
“Thanks for the compliment, but no. Why were you sleeping on this porch?”
“I don’t know. Why did you sit on my face? Not that that’s a bad thing.”
“I’ll tell ya why.” Dot drew the lapel of her housecoat aside to reveal a bite mark on her shoulder. Scowling at the dude, she said, “Not what I meant when I said you and yer broheims could each have a piece a me.” She broke the broom’s handle over her knee and tossed the bits into his naked lap. “Now, git!”
The dude stood and looked around. “Where are my pants?”
“When ya get home,” Dot growled, “bend over and look in a mirror.”
The dude reached behind himself, and his bloodshot eyes almost shot from his skull. He gazed frantically from lady to lady, dropped the broom bits and dashed off with his pants legs flicking behind him like a tail.
“I take it you had an eventful night,” I said to Dot.
She slapped me on the back. “If ya call a night of monumental, balls-on sexual depravity ‘eventful.’ That’ll happen when a girl takes on the entire Goddessdamn Assjacket-Douchecanoe Community Technical Witching College broomsy team.”
Camille looked confused. “I didn’t know the Assjacket-Douchecanoe Community Technical Witching College had a broomsy team.”
I didn’t know Assjacket or Douchecanoe had a Community Technical Witching College.
“Hell, yeah,” Dot exclaimed. “Thirteen strappin’ eighteen- to twenty-one-year-old hunks of prime warlock meat—and each and every one of ’em was right here last night.” A scowl crossed her face. “But bitin’…I got no tolerance for that. Hard to tell these days who might be a vampire, what with all yer sparklies and such.”
Camille’s eyes grew wide. “Was he a vampire?”