Spell or High Water

by Gina LaManna

  Looks like a slug, doesn’t it? Like the big old monster was slithering around here.

  “How did nobody see him?” I murmured to Paul. “There’s always someone walking their dog. Or, if he’s as big as you say, someone should’ve seen him from the road.”

  I think he’s got some sort of invisibility that prevents the humans from laying eyes on him. A safety measure.

  I frowned. “Portal magic is weird. Why’d he have to attack me, anyway? It would make more sense to go after Zola. She’s got a whole shop full of plants.”

  Oh, there he went — look. I think that’s the end of the road.

  “Where is he going?” I mused, as we followed the trajectory downhill. Suddenly the imprinted rut on the ground turned from squiggly to straight, as if the monster had found what he was looking for and made a beeline toward it. Another minute of following the path and it was easy to see where he’d been headed.

  “Water,” I said, as Paul croaked in agreement. “It was headed toward the water.”

  Good riddance. It needed a bath.

  The sound of gurgling water drew us toward the riverbank. A rocky swath of land separated the grass from a pale white line of sand, beyond which a stream frothed its way over and under fallen logs, jagged boulders and the underwater forest of seaweed and plants.

  This stream goes right by the portal. Water is probably the easiest way for him to travel.

  “Maybe,” I said, “but that means he could be anywhere. Ugh, we have to find him! If we don’t he’ll start drawing attention to himself and people will be asking questions I can’t answer.”

  It’ll be worse than that. They’ll be looking to blame you. The destruction is worst in your yard.

  “You really know how to make me feel better.”

  I’m just being honest. Everyone thinks you’re weird enough as is.

  I bit my lip and decided to pick my way through the rocky pass. The soles of my shoes were so thin I could feel every ridge and bump as Paul directed me over the path of least resistance. When I finally reached the silky sand spreading along the river, my feet were quite relieved.

  Hold up. That’s one lazy monster.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Shush! Look.

  There, just around the bend in the river, I caught a glimpse of a shiny, slick skin that could only belong to a paranormal creature. It sparkled in the sunlight, an odd, purplish sheen beneath the layer of translucence.

  You can see that thing, right? I’m not going crazy?

  “Oh, you’re crazy, but I see it.”

  You’re hilarious. So, what are you going to do about him?

  “I-I don’t know.” I inched forward, cautiously, so as to not draw attention to myself. “This isn’t working. That pile of rocks is obstructing my view. I need to get closer.”

  I think it’s better to keep your distance from monsters, Paul said. Just my opinion.

  “Someone has to put him back into the realm where he belongs,” I pointed out. “Looks like it’s going to be me because I don’t have another option. The other three girls don’t believe me, and the coven has made it clear where it stands.”

  Ask for help! The only reason they didn’t believe you is because they don’t trust me. Granted, I do tend to embellish my stories.

  “Yes, you do,” I agreed. “Which is why I need a clear view to see this monster for myself.”

  I’m out of here. Paul hopped off my shoulder and landed on a slippery rock. Because he was wearing little booties, he didn’t get the traction he normally got from his amphibian feet — which resulted in a long slide and a plop onto the sandy shore. Go on, then — I’ll wait right here for you.

  “Remind me to file a petition with the coven for a new sidekick,” I muttered, “someone who’ll actually watch my back.”

  Oh, I’ll watch your back all right. I’ll watch it carefully as you walk into danger, but that’s all you can expect from me. I don’t plan to follow you to your slimy death.

  Ignoring my familiar, I crept quietly over the sandy path until I reached the boulders, stones and rocks that sat in a loosely interwoven pile and blocked my view of the creature. I feared that one wrong touch of a stone would send the whole thing cascading to the ground, so I very carefully rested my fingertips on the sturdiest of rocks.

  With extreme caution, I tiptoed to a safe little niche with a perfect window between stones. Two boulders teetered precariously against one another, and through them I caught the first glimpse of the monster that’d come to terrorize Eternal Springs.

  “Wow,” I gasped, and Paul agreed from a distance with a low croak. “He’s huge!”

  I told you, Paul said in our unique little language. But nobody believed me.

  I apologized and promised him a double margarita bath with an extra twist of lemon when we got home. He seemed satisfied with the offer, and I turned my attention back to the river.

  Sure enough, the slug was there, bathing in the water, giant and unmistakable. A weird mixture between worm, caterpillar and Barney-the-purple-dinosaur, the creature was long and fat and gooey. As I watched, the thing bent its head and snapped up an entire bush of fresh flowers dangling above the riverbed.

  The slug shuddered with happiness. The outer layer of the animal began to turn black, as if sweating mud. That sludge, I realized, was what had killed my yard, along with the grass and shrubbery that’d been in its way along the path from my house to the river. It apparently feasted on fresh plants, then immediately let loose a toxic barrage of sludge. Gross!

  If I had to guess, I’d say the slug preferred spending time in water instead of chugging about on land. I sensed he was drawn to it, much like me. I was willing to bet he, too, felt the lunar pull of the changing tides, the gasp of relief as a storm opened its clouds and rained down. I even enjoyed the pleasant sensation of climbing into a shower at the end of the day, just to be reunited with my favored element.

  If it was true what Paul said about the slug being invisible to the human eye — which seemed entirely likely because I was certain Bertha would have complained about a fat purple monster — then I had to imagine the sparkling sheen around its outer layer was some sort of magical defense to keep the animal hidden from view. In a way, it was quite impressive, as invisibility was no easy task.

  The biggest issue facing me at the moment was size. I had to get this big guy back to the portal and send him home — the sooner the better. In a fight, however, I couldn’t win — the monster was simply too big. Even if I knocked him unconscious with a spell, I couldn’t move him.

  That left me with one option: I’d have to corral him to the portal somehow. Herd him, like sheep — except instead of cute fluffy sheep, I’d be herding a giant gross slug. Just my luck.

  Paul must have heard my mumblings because he approved of the idea with a croak. As I turned to ask him for any ideas, my hand slipped from its perch on the rock and my worst nightmare was realized. One of the stones that’d been guarding my hiding spot let loose and went tumbling to the ground.

  Unfortunately, it was a pivotal stone in the tower. The tense silence lasted for an extended second before the clattering began. The next second, everything went haywire.

  The pile crumbled and groaned, then clattered to the ground with a grating cacophony of rock-on-rock. The slide started from the midsection and loosed all the top rocks first. I barely managed to jump out of the way as a stone the size of my head landed where my foot had been just moments before.

  Smooth, Evian. Now, run!

  I dodged back to Paul, scooped him up, and didn’t look behind me until I’d pulled us into the trees beyond the riverbank. Only then did I pause for breath. Chancing a glance backward, I found an empty stream where the monster had been moments before.

  I needn’t have worried; judging by the slug’s lack of pursuit, it was more afraid of me than I was of it. The creature had simply vanished.

  “Where’d he go?” I asked Paul. “Did you see?”
<
br />   He disappeared.

  “He didn’t disappear! He’s got to be around here somewhere. Did he hide? How could he possibly hide? He’s the size of a tree.” I peered across the rocks, the sand, to the water moving into a calm stillness. “He must have taken off.”

  All I know is that I’m not investigating. This is outside the realm of toadly duties.

  “I need to get him closer to the portal.”

  He seems like a doofus. He’s afraid of you, which is just ridiculous.

  “I can be scary.”

  Sure, before you fix your hair in the morning, you can be quite frightening.

  I glared at Paul. “What’s your theory then? Why’s he destroying all growing things?”

  I think he stumbled out of the portal and needs a way back. He can’t help what he is. The destruction seems to come from the slime on his skin — not something he’s doing maliciously.

  “I’m not taking any chances,” I said. “Maybe if I can get the girls to help ... .”

  Yeah, right. You saw the monster first — you know the rules.

  “True.” I thought for a moment. “Well, we do know what he likes. He likes fresh flowers, life, plants.”

  But not all plants, or else he would’ve never bothered to stumble up into your yard and attack it. He seems a lazy monster to me, so there must be something special about your grass.

  “Touché.” I considered the magical tinge that I used to water my plants. Margaret might be right, though I hated to admit it. “Wait — I’ve got it, Paul!”

  Feel like sharing?

  “I’m going to ask Zola for all of the extra plants she has — you know, half-dead daffodils, daisies, whatever. I’ll plop them down in a path to the portal, and then I’ll use my spell to water them. The full moon is tonight — it will be perfect!”

  No wonder today’s been so crazy. Witches are always weird around full moons. I should probably stay home in bed. What do I know? You might go dancing naked around a bonfire.

  I wrinkled my nose at the thought. “I can’t even do karaoke fully clothed. No dancing naked for me.”

  I suppose your plan is worth a shot. He’s gone into hiding for now, anyway.

  “Let’s swing by Cackleberries on the walk back,” I said. “I will seriously owe Zola if she agrees to help.”

  Before I could take a step toward the witchy garden shop, pattering footsteps sounded on a path through the woods a little too close for comfort. The huff of heavy breathing followed next.

  “Hello,” a voice said behind me. “Is that you, Evian? What brings you all the way out here … alone?”

  Nineteen

  “What are you doing out this way?” Susanne, one of the pageant contestants, slowed from a jog and walked the rest of the distance between us. “I never see anyone out this way.”

  “Hi,” I said, my heart pounding as relief flooded through me. I don’t know who I’d expected — the murderer out for a jog? — but the heavy breathing had sent goosebumps across my skin. I gathered my senses and glanced behind me to make sure the huge, supernatural monster wasn’t visible. “Just out for a walk. What about you?”

  She gestured to herself, implying my question was silly. Then again, she was wearing spandex shorts and a complex-looking sports bra that strapped her chest in such a way that made me think she was prepared to launch into space.

  “Exercise,” she said, then laughed. “Obviously.”

  Something you’re unfamiliar with, Paul croaked in my ear.

  “Right,” I echoed through gritted teeth. Talking to my toad was generally frowned upon in public, but if I were in an arguing mood I’d let Paul know that chasing paranormal creatures around Eternal Springs and being dragged to karaoke burned enough calories to call both activities exercise. “Do you do that a lot?”

  “What, exercise?” Susanne gave another tinkling laugh. “Yes, I try to get in at least one run a day, sometimes two.”

  “Two runs in one day?” My jaw fell open. “Every day?”

  “That’s the goal!” She patted her uber-flat stomach. “Have to keep the weight off somehow. They don’t call them beauty contests for nothing.”

  “I thought it was a pageant.”

  Susanne bit her lip, her eyebrows knitting together. “Please don’t tell anyone I said that. I didn’t mean it; I swear I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me,” I said. “I’ve slipped up a few times and called it a beauty contest myself. The girls corrected me.”

  “Yeah, they’ll do that.” She stared into the distance, lost in thought. “It’s easy to forget.”

  It seemed there was something she wanted to tell me, so I waited with as much patience as I could muster for her to open up.

  After a few minutes of staring dreamily into the waves, Susanne snapped back to earth and smiled at me. “It’s just that sometimes the industry feels very beauty focused, don’t you think?”

  “Um, you mean the beauty pageant industry? Yes, I would agree.”

  “I know what we’re supposed to say.” Susanne crossed her arms over her chest and looked for the first time like a regular person. She wore no makeup and had a smattering of hairs plastered to her forehead from sweat. Her lips weren’t blood red or plum purple, and her cheeks were flushed naturally, her freckles allowed to show on her skin. To me, she looked more attractive without the gunk caked on her face, but what did I know? That’s probably why they didn’t ask me to judge the pageant.

  “What you’re supposed to say?” I pressed. I had a firm recollection of interviewing Susanne at the Beauty Cottage about Mary’s murder. She’d had the habit of staring off into space then, too, which was why I’d kept my questioning short. It took forever to pull a full sentence out of her.

  “Yes, what I’m supposed to say,” she said finally. “About how the pageant is a great opportunity for girls to win scholarships and showcase their talents and meet other women and make connections, and yada yada. Doesn’t that sound exhausting?”

  I nodded sympathetically. “Plus, you’re supposed to look good while doing it. I can barely remember to put mascara on, and I definitely count cherry Chapstick as a beauty product.”

  “Exactly!” Susanne agreed with more life than I’d seen in her yet. “Despite all the good stuff it’s supposed to do for us, at the end of the day it’s still a beauty contest, isn’t it? They’re not picking the extra-curvy girl who’s a genius at math to win anything, are they? She’s just as beautiful as anyone else, inside and out.”

  Seemed to me Susanne had a complex. Then again, I was certain she wasn’t the only one. Beauty pageants hardly seemed to be the breeding grounds for emotionally stable women.

  “It’s not really fair,” Susanne said when she returned from her reverie. She pinched the non-existent fat around her waist. “It’s not fair that the size of this or the shape of my features determines whether I’m a beautiful, successful woman.”

  “No, it most certainly doesn’t,” I agreed. “Women are much more complex than their physical appearance — but try to get men to understand that.”

  “Right? Ugh! It’s so frustrating!” She reached out a hand and smacked the tree trunk next to her. “I just wish it wasn’t this way!”

  The jolt of emotion was surprising. It showed me a new side of the contestant — one with passion and frustrations and problems. “Susanne, are you okay? Is something bothering you?”

  “Yes! This whole stupid contest is just annoying!”

  “Then why are you participating?”

  She rolled her eyes. “What else am I supposed to do with my life? My mom has had me in contests since I could walk. I was four years old with crimped eyelashes and curled hair and foundation on my little baby cheeks. How messed up is that?”

  “I’m sorry,” I offered. “I can’t imagine.”

  “Why the heck do you think I’ve taken up running?” She blew out a breath of exasperation. “My mother’s here now. She wanted to stay with me �
�� as a roommate — in the Beauty Cottage. I said no. She takes helicoptering to a new level.”

  “That sounds a bit overbearing,” I admitted. “That would drive me insane.”

  “Tell me about it. Thankfully, the rules don’t allow anyone except the girls competing to stay at the cottage, so she had to get a hotel room. But it doesn’t stop her from dropping by any time of the day or night to make sure I popped my vitamins and curled my hair and drank my acai juice. It’s ridiculous!”

  “That sounds suffocating.”

  “You see why I run?” She shook her head. “Yes, to get away from her physically, but also as an outlet! If I didn’t burn off some energy I’d explode from frustration, and that wouldn’t look good on stage. No, mother wouldn’t be pleased at all. She almost had a conniption when Mary was killed. Thought the show might not go on. Well, I don’t think it should. What a disgrace on Edwin’s part. He should have cancelled the pageant. People could’ve really learned something from Mary’s death.”

  Paul had moved to sit in the hood of my rain jacket the second he’d heard footsteps approaching. It wasn’t that we were ashamed of our relationship, but most people didn’t quite understand why I had such a close friendship with a toad. Better if they were just left in the dark about that whole situation.

  From my hood, he gave a low grumble that only I could hear. It was unnecessary, however, as I’d already been thinking about Susanne’s possible involvement in the murder. Had she been frustrated enough to kill?

  Having my mother hanging over my shoulder at such close quarters might drive me to insanity. Combine that with double standards and a lifetime of pressure to perform, and it was a recipe for a meltdown. It would also explain why she was so frustrated about the pageant not being cancelled — all the trouble of murder and she still hadn’t gotten what she wanted?

  I realized I let myself think too long because Susanne was staring curiously at me.