The Incompetent Witch and the Missing Men

by DC Thome

  Camille fainted. Fortunately, Megyyn caught her.

  And then two hundred male eyes turned and gazed upon Brigid adoringly and two hundred male arms reached out as the men recited in unison, “Brigid, my love! My one and only, true forever lavender love! What is your desire?”

  “My true lavender love”—I like how that sounds.

  “Ooh, my pretties,” Brigid said in the least sexy come-hither voice ever, “make love to me!”

  “Oh, my frappazayin’ Goddess,” Dot said, “their schippfenmasten!”

  At the sound of Brigid’s irritating voice, every man’s porkenschwǻnger started transforming into a schippfenmasten. Megyyn growled. Camille, still in Megyyn’s arms, opened her eyes and promptly fainted again. Ashley hid behind Megyyn. Dot drooled. Yes, literally drooled.

  I strode up to Brigid, stroked her arm—what the fuck is wrong with me?— and said, “Please, Brigid. We both know you’re a sweet, decent person. Don’t you think this has gone far enough?”

  Part of me wanted to vomit for saying that. But another part of me didn’t.

  Dot raised her arms, but before she could fire a blast-O ray, Brigid wiggled her nose and jerked Dot’s and my arms behind our backs, binding us together with the better part of a roll of Scotchwitch Magical Magic Tape™.

  “Au contraire, Cowdenzia,” Brigid said, “methinks things have way, way farther to go. My plan is to make it go all the way.” One of her eyebrows shot up.

  “Now you’re just being gross,” I said. “There must be a hundred men here.”

  Brigid’s lip curled. “Are you suggesting what I think…”

  “I don’t know. What do you think I think?”

  “I think what you think doesn’t matter. Now what do you think of this?” She rode her broom to the height of the tops of the jars and threw her hands wide. The cylinders rolled toward the corners of the room, leaving one cylinder standing by itself.

  Hunter!

  Brigid navigated to a perfect landing on the screen where he stood in all his natural manly—and, I want to point out, porkenschwǻngerly substantial—glory.

  Be cool. Be cool.

  She stroked Hunter’s chin. “Hello, beautiful. Who do you love?”

  “You, Brigid.” His voice sounded unnervingly robotic. “You’re my one and only, true forever lavender love. What is your desire?”

  “I desire you. You and your devotion and”—she looked at me sideways—“your ginormicken schippfenmasten.”

  Must kill Brigid—but she’s soooooo wonderful.

  “Tell me, Hunter, you gorgeous hunk of lion/man meat,” she said, “why do you love me?”

  “Because you’re beautiful and smart—and you have slim hips and an ass so tiny that no rapper would ever drop a rhyme about it.”

  Anger rose from my stomach—only to be tamped down by that irritating feeling of tenderness for Brigid. OMG—he does deserve a thin, smart woman like her—not a fat moron like—

  Pride and reason fought back: Goddess wearing adult Pampers, Prudenzia—what bullshit! Get ahold of yourself. Brigid is the most…the most amazing woman ever! The be-all and end-all of BFFs!

  Keeping her eyes on me, Brigid moved in for a kiss. Hunter’s hand rose up her slender waist, heading straight for her perfectly formed, beautifully proportioned breasts. Geez, even a zombie-ized man…straight for the jiggalajiggalas.

  And she sure has nice jiggalajiggalas.

  Goddessdamn it—I have nice jiggalajiggalas! I have fucking awesome jiggalajiggalas!

  I clenched my fists and fought my own mind. “Hunter! Stop! You don’t love her! You love me!”

  To my surprise, he did stop. And turned to look at me. His face darkened. His brow furrowed. He blinked rapidly. He was fighting his own mind, too!

  “P—Pru?” His already schtiff schippfenmasten schtiffened even more as he reached out to me. Wanting badly to reach out to him, I tried cutting the tape with a twitch of my nose—but it didn’t work. The name brands always work better.

  Brigid shot into the air on her broom, twirled her arms and screeched, “Go back! Back into your strawberry-scented lavender womb!” Flying in a manic arc, she screeched, “Go back, I command you!” The cylinders moved to their original places as the men resubmerged. Their eyelids drooped, and so did everything else.

  Brigid pointed at our pitifully huddled little group. “By this time tomorrow, they will have been fully infused with my potion. Every single one of them will be mine—forever! And you’ll be helpless to do anything about it.”

  She thrust her fist into the air, cackling like a crazed howler monkey. Lightning flashed and thunder crashed. A tsunami of strawberry-scented liquid flushed my lady commandos and me into the tunnel, tumbling us toward the slit in the cliff.

  Dot’s and my hands were still bound together, so I uttered a desperate spell:

  Goddess of earth and wind and water

  Please, if it won’t be a bother

  Give us a craft that we can boat on

  Or at least a thing that we can float on.

  The Goddess apparently focused on “a thing,” because in a flash, something long and white blocked the opening just as we arrived. It was soft and cottony, thank Goddess, because we piled into it going about a hundred miles per hour.

  The only problem is that it had become jammed in the opening in the rock, blocking our only route to escape.

  Hello, Goddess…I wasn’t necessarily asking for a different way to drown.

  Dot leaned into the current and starting kicking the thing while uttering the most heinous string of obscenities and blasphemies I’d ever heard. Which seemed like a pretty good idea, so I did it, too.

  As did the three other ladies.

  Weirdly, it worked. Our anger—and perhaps the pressure of the backed-up water—shot us out of the cave and soaring over the rapidly-flooding misty chasm. We touched down in the swollen stream with all except Ashley on board—but Dot grabbed her by her flowing hair and yanked her to safety.

  Well, relative safety. Quickly soaking up the pink water, the cotton rectangle was on the verge of going under when we reached a sharp curve where the stream plummeted into a steep falls. We’re all going to die. Goodbye, Hunter!

  ***

  Thankfully, science had other ideas. Our momentum tossed us straight ahead onto a sandy area that seconds earlier had been well above the water level.

  Dot and I sat up and worked ourselves free of the dampened tape as the others scrambled to higher ground. When we joined them, they were looking down at the effective-but-not-quite-what-I’d-had-in-mind device I’d conjured.

  Dot squinted. “The hell is that thing?”

  “It looks disturbingly familiar,” Megyyn said.

  Camille looked away. “I don’t want to think about it.”

  “I’m not sure myself,” I added. “I asked the goddess for help.”

  Dot glared at me. “The hell did you say exactly?”

  I repeated the incantation.

  “You asked for ‘something to float on,’ and she gave you a ‘futon’?”

  “I’m used to that,” I said.

  “I don’t think it’s a futon,” Megyyn said. “I think it’s a—”

  “I get it!” I said. “It’s not the fucking Queen Mary. Can we just call it a futon and leave it at that?”

  Pink water droplets flew from Camille’s head as she nodded enthusiastically. Megyyn licked a scrape on her hand. Muttering swears about strawberries, Dot dumped water and sand from her boots. Ashley, who due to her own private breeze was pretty much dry, gazed into the woods.

  What is she seeing when she does that? “Great,” I said. “Now that we’ve addressed that important bit of business, it might be a good idea to regroup and come up with a plan.”

  “That is one ballzenlickende good idee,” Dot said. “And it’s about time. Ya mighta, fer instance, given us a little heads-up re yer girly-crush on the Purple Princess of Darkness.”

  I still felt those
soul-crushing feelings of warmth toward Brigid, but they were fading. “But I don’t have a girly-crush on her,” I said. “At least, I didn’t. I don’t know what that was about.”

  “I hope Brigid’s all right,” Camille said. “I feel I need to go back and, you know, just be there for her.”

  Megyyn nodded. “I hope we didn’t bother her too—”

  Dot threw her hands in the air. “Have ya all gone whack-a-doodoodly doo? She’s turning’ yer menfolk into her humpazoidal boy toys, if ya got the grey stuff up here”—she pointed to her head—“to discern the pith of my iterations.”

  “I have the grey stuff, and here’s what I’ve discerned,” I said. “Brigid cast some kind of spell. Whatever she’s doing to the men rubbed off on us. And since Megyyn and Camille were naked the whole time, more of it soaked in.”

  “Not a bad bit of sleuth-sayin’,” Dot said, “but how’s come said spell had doofity squat effect on me?”

  “If it makes a difference,” Camille said, “I’m back to hating Brigid.”

  “Me, too,” Megyyn said. “And thank Goddess. Liking her was making me feel bad about myself.”

  “One more thing to figure out,” I said. “Let’s get back to the trailhead. We have less than twenty four hours.”

  ***

  Worn out and frazzled, we trudged back in silence. This time, the mud and branches and leaves didn’t bother me as much. I’d dealt with much worse. And no doubt, even worse is yet to come. I could think of nothing but Hunter, but that kept me going.

  When we exited the woods, I stuck out my hand. “Back to my place to figure out what next.” But no one responded.

  “Maybe,” Dot said, “we’d all benefit from a bit of R & R. I’m not talkin’ ’bout takin’ a spa day. Jus’ enough time to wash off the frou-frou juice stench and put on dry duds.”

  The other three ladies nodded. “All right,” I said. “One hour—and then everyone’s back at my place.”

  “If’n it’ll help, I’ll be happy to whisk the gals to their places.”

  “Thanks, Dot. That would be great.” I looked at Ashley. “Just give me a minute—I’d like to have a word with Ashley.”

  “That ain’t gonna be so hard, seeing as how she ain’t got much of a chance to get a word in wedge-eyes, if ya—”

  “I get what you’re saying!”

  Dot scowled. “No need to spit firestones and brimly at me.”

  I took Ashley by her cold, emaciated hand and led her away from the others. “I want to apologize for”—I moved my hand across my mouth in the universal motion for zipper. “I got carried away—but I was afraid, too.”

  Her expression softened.

  “I admire you for joining this mission,” I said. “We all have strengths and weaknesses—Goddess knows how aware I am of that. But if I’m going to be the leader, it’s up to me to figure out your strengths and how to use them.”

  I gently put the index and middle fingers of my right hand on her face and shook my head—and Ashley’s mouth opened.

  Into a smile.

  A green-lipped, pointy-toothed smile!

  Her throat twitched. I braced myself for a hurricane of sound, but instead, she cleared her throat, lowered her chin and uttered a low, almost gentle, “Aiiiiiiiiiyeeeeeeghhhh.”

  I looked into her eyes and smiled back. “I don’t know what you said, but I like how you said it. Unless, of course, you just called me a monstrous bitch and told me to go fuck myself.”

  Her smile bent into a playful smirk.

  “You did, didn’t you? I totally deserve it.”

  Ashley touched my cheek with a chilly kiss, then drifted back to the others. Dot twirled an arm in the air, and the foursome disappeared.

  I felt warm and fuzzy inside. The way I’d felt about Brigid!

  Which pissed me off all over again.

  I closed my eyes and saw the foul-smelling pink water pouring from the cave, the roiling fog, the cavern bathed in lavender light—and images of Pokey and Paul and the other men of Douchecanoe.

  And Hunter.

  I turned and faced the woods. We’re taking our men back. They deserve better than you!

  Chapter 6

  I teleported myself home, remaining fully clothed this time in case this business of running into strangers in my bedroom was becoming a trend. Nope. All clear. I whisked off the still-damp spandex dress and was just about to toss it into the laundry basket in the bathroom when—

  “Jeepers e-fucking creepers,” I screeched—now I’m doing it, too—“who the hell are you?”

  The stocky man whose head had been tucked halfway into my toilet sprang from his knees to his feet and glared from beneath the world’s bushiest unibrow. “I’m Bob. Who the hell are you?”

  I clutched the spandex dress to my chest. “Prudenzia La Strega. I own this house.”

  “Oh. Excellent. You’re the reason I’m here.” He extended his hand.

  “There’s no way I’m shaking hands with a man who was just swishing around in my toilet. Especially a man I don’t know.”

  “If you shook my hand, you’d know me.”

  “You still would have been swishing around in my toilet.”

  “I wasn’t actually swish—”

  “Doesn’t matter. Why are you in my bathroom?”

  “I started out in your bedroom. The little…thing…that lives here said that’s where I should wait. But I’m big-time into plumbing, and your commode is a real gem. You don’t see too many syphon jet bowls like this in use anymore. Not with the embossed green and gold floral pattern. You’ve got some crazing in the basin, but that’s to be expected. We’re talking 1900, 1910 at the latest. Would’ve had a high tank, of course.”

  “Um…thanks for the history lesson?”

  “No problem-o.” He stuck out his hand again. It was covered with thick hair—and I noticed that he had a lot of hair sticking out of the collar of his blue work shirt, too.

  “Not until you wash it,” I said. “Your hand, I mean. Use the antimicrobial soap.”

  He recoiled. His face crinkled and grizzled hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. “Do I have to?”

  “I could see if I have any acid strong enough to melt your hands clean. Clean off.”

  While Bob washed up, I pulled the dress back on and called Abigail. She pranced up the stairs and into my room.

  “Your latest adventure into the wild was rough on your hair,” she said. “Make sure you use plenty of conditioner.” She turned up her nose, sniffed and gagged. “What is that horrid smell?”

  “Strawberries?”

  “You rolled around in strawberries? Gross. Go wash with that horrible antimicrobial soap you love so much.”

  “Strawberries are gross,” I said, “but they don’t have germs.”

  “Germs stink. Strawberries stink. Washing kills stink. It’s science.”

  “We’ll have to agree to disagree. Now tell me why I came home to find a man who looks like a body-building weasel with his head in my toilet.”

  “Of all the silly reasons to come home!” Abigail jumped onto my bed. “Only you can answer that.”

  “Oh, no,” the unibrowed one said. “I can answer that, too.”

  I feel a headache coming on—and I don’t have time for this. “Because you’re into toilets—literally.”

  “I am,” he said. “But your exquisite crapper is a bonus. I’m here because Zelda sent me.”

  “Zelda sent you to my bathroom?”

  “To your bedroom.”

  “Actually”—Dot strode in—“the critter-thingy sent him to the bedroom. Yer pal Zelda sent him here in general.”

  I’m going to have to install traffic lights. “How do you know that, Dot?”

  “After I dropped off the other gals, I checked in with Zelda—who, I gotta say, is quite the fashion plate, if yer hep to the couture of Prayda and Ives Saint Lorenzo. Anyhoo, she told me she knew a guy who might have some knowledge of what we should know vis-a-vee yer m
issing Douchecanoean menfolk.”

  It’s amazing how much you can accomplish on witch time. “One-Brow Bob is the guy?”

  “Absolutely,” he said. “And I brought plungers!”

  If I heal myself of this headache, maybe my brain will explode and put me out of my misery. “Why did you bring plungers?’”

  “In case you need them.”

  “Why would I need them?”

  He crossed his arms. “If you don’t know, it’s a good thing I brought them.”

  Maybe I could heal this guy and his head would explode.

  “Maybe that’s not the best idea,” Dot said.

  “Did I say that out loud?”

  “No,” Dot said, “I could tell whatcha were thinkin’ by the look on yer face. Anyhooly, the clock’s a-tickety-tockin’. I suggest we skip to the ‘knowledge’ part.”

  “Please,” I said. “Bob? You know something?”

  “Absolutely,” he said. “You have a potentially water-based situation—and I know water.”

  “Because of your potty fixation?”

  “That, and I’m a shifter,” he said. “A beaver shifter.”

  ***

  An hour later, my ragtag all-female commando team—plus Abigail, who I’m pretty sure is female—and Bob the Big Hairy Beaver Man were in my living room.

  “The only order of business on the agenda,” I said, “is to figure out how to rescue our men, so—does anyone have any thoughts?”

  Camille raised her hand. “Megyyn and I thought we should have a name for our group.”

  “A name?”

  “Like, the Saving-Men-From-Brigid-Women of Deau de Chenieux.”

  “If that’s what you’d like to call—”

  “Or,” Megyyn said, “the Women of Deau de Chenieux Who Save Their Men From the Giant Jugs Filled With Pink Water of Brigid.”

  “So, that,” I said, “would be W.D.C.W.S.T.M.F.G.J.F.W.P.W. for short?”

  “You missed a D,” Megyyn said.

  “And a B,” Camille chirped.

  Megyyn counted the initials on her fingers as she mumbled them. “You’re right, Camille. Good catch.”

  Bob interrupted. “I don’t think she missed a D.”