The Incompetent Witch and the Missing Men

by DC Thome

  Again, Camille counted on her fingers while whispering “W.D.D.C.—”

  And again, Bob interrupted. “The second D is for the ‘de’ in Deau de Chenieux. I’m pretty sure there’s a rule that ‘de’ doesn’t get its own initial.”

  “Enough, already!” I said. “Let’s just call ourselves the fucking S.W.A.T. team.”

  “I like that,” Camille said. “What does it mean?”

  Goddess, please don’t let me kill them. “It means Ass-kicking Woman Action Team.”

  Megyyn scowled. “That would be A.W.A.T.”

  Camille frowned. “Shouldn’t there be an F in there somewhere?”

  “You’re right,” Bob said. “Pru clearly said Fucking Ass-kicking Woman Action Team.”

  “Fucking,” I grumbled, “was not part of the name.”

  “Still,” Dot said, “I gotta point out that if ya tell folks yer in the A.W.A.T., they’re gonna think yer sayin’ ‘A What?’ if ya can transmogrify the—”

  I groaned. “Small A and—capitalize the first S in ass!”

  “So, yer talkin’ ‘aSs-kicking Woman Action Team’?”

  “Exactly.”

  Megyyn and Camille looked at each other, nodded and said in unison, “Sounds good.”

  “Great. Now, let’s get on with—”

  Ashley, who had drifted to the window unnoticed, let out one of her patented shrieks.

  I dashed to her side and looked out. “What?”

  She pointed toward the porch. “AIIIIIIIIIIYEEEEEEGHHHH!”

  “I don’t see anything.”

  “AIIIIIIIIIIYEEEEEEGHHHH!”

  I turned to the group. “What’s she saying?”

  “She ain’t sayin’ nothin’,” Dot said. “Jus’ screamin’.” The others nodded.

  I turned back to Ashley. “Relax. I’ll go take a look.”

  I went onto the porch. Ashley followed closely, crouching to remain hidden from whatever was terrifying her. Then her face contorted and she pointed to a tiny movement as something scurried into my pitiful, unkempt flower bed.

  “Just a pathetic little mouse,” I said. “Or a bug. Maybe a snake. A very small, timid snake. You’re not afraid of snakes.”

  Ashley slowly shook her head, but kept her eyes on the flower bed.

  “Good. Nothing to worry about.”

  When we got back inside, though, Ashley drifted to the window.

  “I gotta agree,” Dot said. “What with yer black wallpaper, black curtains, black furniture, black carpeting and dimly lit funeral lamps, it’s more’n a tad spooky down here.”

  “I’m a witch,” I said. “You’re a witch. Ashley’s a ghost. Three of us can turn into animals with sharp claws and teeth. Well, two—the other one has tiny teeth and hides under rocks. What could scare the likes of us?”

  “For one,” she said, “seein’ that loopy Brigid gal hovering over them menfolk as they’re floatin’ in giant Collins glasses full of frou-frou-smellin’ purplewater.”

  All eyes fell on me. “Upstairs,” I sighed. Because everyone ends up in my bedroom eventually.

  ***

  Dot, Megyyn and Camille sat on my bed. Holding a sleeping Abigail, Ashley hovered near the window and scanned the yard. Bob plopped onto a chair heaped with my dirty clothes. Weird. I leaned against my vanity and tried to assume an air of authority.

  “We’ll start with brainstorming,” I said. I snapped my fingers to conjure a blackboard and chalk, but ended up with a whiteboard. I sighed, looked at the chalk in my hands and visualized felt-tipped markers. The pieces wiggled and moved in circles before launching themselves into the air. As bees.

  And they just kept coming out of my fingertips. A whole swarm of killer fucking bees!

  “Butt crackers and lollipops,” Dot yelled, “make ’em stop!”

  “I would,” I said, “but I don’t know how!”

  Megyyn and Camille screamed and dove under the bed. Bob dashed into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. Ashley pressed herself against the ceiling as the swarm gathered beneath her. Abigail snored.

  “Then you just sit tight, dearie dear,” Dot said. “I got this’n.”

  She raised of her both hands and blasted me with a cloud of white powder.

  “What the—”

  “Don’t worry,” Dot said. “It’s naught but magnesium, cy-licon and oxy-gin.”

  Baby powder?

  Dot turned and blew a hole in the wall. The line of bees made a beeline for the hole and disappeared from the room in seconds. Then Dot healed the wall.

  I didn’t even know that was possible. “Good thing you knew about baby powder and bees.”

  “Ya’d be surprised what’s rattlin’ around in this thing that holds my hair up off my neck. Sometimes, some of it comes in purty handy.”

  ***

  When everyone was settled again—it took twenty minutes to convince Bob to come out of the bathroom—I forced a smile. “So…brainstorming. Just put everything out there.” I looked at Megyyn, on my right.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why’re you looking at me? Cuz I’m a fox shifter, so I must be clever and devious?”

  “No, because you’re sitting next to me and I thought we would go around the circle.”

  “In that case, I’ll pass.”

  Camille and Ashley passed, too.

  “In brainstorming,” I said, “it’s important to say whatever comes to mind. Nothing is too stupid. Just throw it out there.”

  Bob jumped to his feet. “How about we get one of those nuclear bombs—or better yet, two or three—and blow the whole mountain to Kingdom Come!”

  He settled back onto my dirty clothes, looking pleased. Megyyn turned to me. “Is that too stupid?”

  I wanted to say yes, but—and it was a strain—I stuck with some principle or other I vaguely recalled from counseling school. “If I had a marker, Bob, I’d write that on the board.”

  Dot snorted. “Oh, fer Goddess’ sakes with a unicorn’s horn stuck up her pfloompfendooper!” She twitched her nose, and the words “stupid nukular bomb idee” appeared on the board.

  Camille raised her hand. “Could I start with a question instead?”

  I nodded. “Yes, questions are always welcome.”

  “Because you said ideas, not questions.”

  “From now on, ideas and questions are allowed,” I assured her. “What’s your question?”

  “Does anyone know why the smelly water affected everyone except Dot?”

  I looked around the circle. Shaking heads. Shrugs.

  “I have an idea,” Camille said. “That’s okay, right? Ideas and questions?”

  Fake empathy. “Yes, please, Camille. Tell us your idea.”

  She leaned forward. “When I’m in lizard form, I have a great sense of taste. You know…my tongue.” She put her hand in front of her mouth and wiggled her fingers. “The pink water is mostly strawberry-flavored Ghoul-Aid™.”

  Megyyn got a faraway look in her eyes. “My ma used to make it by the pitcher on hot summer days.”

  “Wait,” I said. “Are you saying all our men have literally drunk the Ghoul-Aid?”

  “With other things mixed in,” Camille continued. “Lavender oil, for sure. Plus sweet red wine, basil, clove, apple seeds, vanilla extract, apple juice, ginseng and hearts of wild rose.”

  “Koonst und lingkus!” Dot shouted. “That would be yer Love Potion No. 9!”

  I immediately recalled the incantation I had to learn in year two of witchery school—to be recited as the ingredients boiled for nine minutes:

  Who partakes of this wine

  Will give to me love divine.

  Sweet elixir Number Nine

  Make (him or her) forever mine.

  “That evil fucking bitch,” I growled. “Using love in such a hateful way.”

  Camille sprang to her petite feet. “Exactly! It’s the same ingredients as Love Potion No. 9—except for three details. Instead of nine drops of strawberry juice, Brigid put in eighteen. Plus
, the lavender oil comes from a specific kind of plant—the very rare coconut ice-pink pink lavender.”

  Whoeverthefuck thought of calling pink flowers lavender? “Why would she add those?”

  “So that whoever drinks it is attracted only to her.”

  Ice pink…Frigid Brigid. Duh. I clenched my fists. “That evil fu—”

  Dot interrupted. “Ya said that already.”

  “Sorry. Please, Camille. What’s the last detail?”

  “I sensed a very slight taste of gold,” Camille said. “Then I realized all the men who went missing are married.”

  Megyyn and Ashley looked at their wedding bands. I glanced at my bare ring finger. “Hunter’s not married.”

  “No—but he loves you, right? And you love him?”

  Longing to touch Hunter again, I nodded.

  “That’s all it takes,” she said. “The ring is symbolic—for the potion. You can be committed in real life without a ring.”

  “So, it didn’t work on Dot because—”

  “She’s not in love.”

  Dot crossed her arms. “That’s the way I like it.”

  Abigail stirred. “‘Accounts receivable’?”

  Ashley softly clucked and hissed and scratched Abigail behind the ears, which made her go back to sleep.

  “Dot,” I said, “no one’s judging you.”

  She pointed around the circle. “As fer as I’m concerned, love is just another four-letter word. Now, sex—that’s the four-letter word I’m talkin’ about.”

  I put my hand on her knee. “Again, that’s fine. To each her own.”

  “Damn hootin’-tootin’.”

  “On the other hand,” Megyyn said, “you know that ‘sex’ has only three letters.”

  Dot’s face gnarled into a naughty grin. “Sure—when you do it—if yer swift on the upshot of the down-low I’m layin’ on ya.”

  Then she winked.

  Camille sat down. “I don’t know if that’ll help us, but you said we should bring up anything that came into our head.”

  “Exceptin’ fer nukular bombs.” Dot glared at Bob. “Anyone brings up anythin’ like that again, and I’ll nukulate yer hairy beaver ass.”

  Camille raised her hand.

  “Yes, Camille?”

  “Could I ask another question?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Would you like to know what else was different in Brigid’s potion?”

  Thank Goddess I never took Mom’s advice to be a third-grade teacher. “Please.”

  “There was something, I don’t know…kind of sweet, but refreshing. Earthy, but clean. I couldn’t quite—”

  “Ooh, ooh!” Bob the beaver shifter raised his hand and squirmed atop the clothes pile. “I know that one! Call on me! Call on me!”

  “We’re not in school, Bob,” I said. “Just tell us what you know.”

  “Is it all right if it’s not a question?”

  Sigh. “Yes.”

  He stood. “I did some reconnaissance to trace the source of the water going into The Forbidden Cave. I suspected it was coming straight from the spring at the base of Sabbat Hill, but as I worked upstream, I discovered a recently dug ditch that brings in water from a different source. I followed that, and it took me to another spring. A grotto of sorts. Deeper in the woods. With flat rocks lining its sides.”

  I gasped. “La Font de Magie de l’Amour de Deau de Chenieux!”

  Bob grimaced. “That’s a lotta de’s.”

  “It’s French,” Megyyn and Camille chorused.

  My mind raced back to the previous night. No wonder Hunter was surprised that my feet didn’t reach the water!

  Bob peered at us from beneath his unibrow. “Is there something special about that water?”

  “It has magical powers,” Camille said. “Couples go there at midnight to swim together and…” Her face turned red.

  For Goddess’ sake, don’t stop now! “And what, Camille?”

  “Yeah, I think all us’all would like to know,” Dot said, “if the gerbil wheel in yer head is spinnin’ fast enough to create a spark of realization as to the implications of my observation.”

  Camille swallowed hard. “They go there to consummate their affection.”

  My palms grew sweaty. “What?”

  Ashley chimed in with a barely restrained “Aiiiiiiiiiyeeeeeeghhhh.”

  “What?” I repeated.

  Abigail spoke in a groggy voice without opening an eye. “Ashley and Camille are saying couples go there to fuck.” She rolled over, stretched and added, “When they want it to be serious. You know, meaningful. Spiritual, if you will.”

  Ho-lee Mother of the Goddess wearing granny panties on her head!

  “All right, ladies,” I said, “now that we’ve got that figured out, let’s make a plan!”

  ***

  The plan opened with Bob damming the ditch from The Font. Once he cut off the flow of magic water to the cave, Camille and Megyyn—because they’re so fast in animal form—would shift and pull the plugs to drain the cylinders.

  “But,” Camille squeaked, “you told me not to do that.”

  “That’s because at the time,” I said, “we didn’t know if the potion was keeping them alive.”

  “So you were wrong?”

  “Yes.”

  “What if you’re wrong this time, too?”

  Megyyn snorted. “Oh, for crying out loud, Camille, what part of ‘not keeping them alive’ is so hard to understand?”

  “I just want to be sure.”

  It’s how her lizard brain works. Fake empathy time. “Believe me, if I didn’t think I was right, I wouldn’t chance it. I want Hunter to be safe as much as you want Paul to be.”

  Nothing fake about that.

  Camille sniffled and nodded.

  “I do have one question, though,” I said. “Will you two be able to open the spigots when in animal form? Neither lizards nor foxes have opposable thumbs.”

  “Yeah, but we’re shifters who have human brains,” Megyyn groused. “We’ll figure it out.”

  “Problem solved,” I said. “As the cylinders empty, Dot and I will use tractor beams to lift the men out of the tubes and set them on the floor. Meanwhile, Ashley will stand guard and sound a warning if Brigid shows up.”

  Ashley opened her mouth, but then closed it and smiled shyly. Thank you for not screeching.

  “The only other detail we have to cover,” I said, “is protecting everyone from the effects of the love potion.”

  “Not that I have much of a soft spot fer yer wizardly types,” Dot said, “but the love potion antie-dotie made for Ron Weasleby in Harry Porter and Yer Half-Blooded Prince would be as good a place as any to start.”

  She snapped her fingers. The book levitated before her and opened to the page with the recipe. A frown appeared as she scanned the ingredients. “Gurdyroot extract’s easy to find, but I’ll be kootchieboggled if I know where to get wiggentree twigs on such short notice.”

  I used my crystal ball—choosing my search words carefully to avoid another bee-type incident—to look up the “Harry Porter” formula on WizYelp. “The reviews says it works, but simmering the potion until it turns from red to pink takes way longer than the recipe says.”

  “Fortunately,” Dot said, “I remember seeing something in yer New England Journal of Traditional-type Medicine about stuff that suppresses horniness, and numbero uno on the list was yer booze-wa-zee.”

  Dot and I stared at each other for a few moments, then broke out laughing.

  “Good one, Dot,” I said between guffaws. “Next time I’m feeling horny when I shouldn’t be, I’ll throw a shot or six down my gullet to keep me from doing anything stupid.”

  “Pernt well made. Let’s cross that’n dead off the list and go straight to numbero duo—nicoteenie.”

  Camille gasped. “Where do we get that?”

  Abigail’s slumber broke for a moment. “The mortals always have it at their so-called convenience st
ore off the highway outside of town.”

  I scowled. “How do you know that?”

  “Don’t ask, don’t smell,” she said—and then, a second later, she was snoring again.

  Why’s she so tired?

  “We won’t have to go to the mortals’ store,” Megyyn said. “I got cigarettes with me right now.”

  “You smoke cigarettes?”

  “I like what they do for my voice.”

  She pulled out two packs—one called More and another called Lucky Strike.

  “Which one would be better?” I asked.

  “More always sounds like a good idea,” Megyyn said.

  “Exceptin’ that in this case, alla ya are hopin’ to git lucky, if yer can examine the intricacies of my reasoning.”

  The rest of us remained stock-still. “Actually, Dot,” I said, “I’m pretty sure we don’t.”

  “It’s not just about sex,” Megyyn said. “Sly grooms me gently and marks off more territory than I’ll ever need.”

  “I can spend whole days with Paul, cuddling in a crack in a wall while the sun warms up our body temperatures,” Camille said. “And he’s never afraid of losing a tooth or two defending me.”

  Ashley looked down and whispered, “Aiiiiiiiiiyeeeeeeghhhh.”

  I looked around, waiting for a translation. Finally Abigail croaked, “She said Billy G. is the only person who really understands her.”

  “All righty-tighty-tootie, already,” Dot said. “I’m followin’ the thread of yer needlin’. Still, there’s a good chance we’re gonna need at least a little luck to save the menfolk from the Purple One.”

  I made an executive decision. “Let’s try the Lucky Strikes.”

  Which had two effects. First, we looked like idiots fumbling around with Megyyn’s lighter. Bob was so inept that he lit one of his hairy ears on fire. The rest of us got sick. Ashley got so sick she threw up something that looked like owl pellets mixed into scrambled eggs.

  “This isn’t the answer,” I said. “What else did that article say?”

  “Somethin’ about a concoction of hot peppers and licorice root abstract.” She wiggled her nose and a cookbook appeared.

  101 Idees for Rootin’ Tootin’ Shur-Shootin’ Witchy-Type Elixers.

  I studied the recipe. It had two ingredients. Hot peppers. And licorice root abstract. “Looks easy enough. And I have both of those in the house.”