Jinxed_Toxic Bitchcraft Book One

by K. B. Ladnier

  I glowered at Turk. “No. I want my life to go back to the way it was. I want to stop thinking about Orrin and his sexy as sin fucking swagger. I want to stop thinking about the sweet way Milo remembers like every memory from when we were kids. I want to stop that mutha effin ghost from singing ‘Don’t Rain on My Parade’ sixty billion times every night! I want it to stop!”

  Turk just stood there for a moment, quietly staring. “Sooo…you don’t wanna talk about it?”

  I sighed. I did. But what was I supposed to say that I hadn’t already? This was too much.

  “Listen. To me, this sounds like a Mama Craft problem to help you fix. Your mother may be one of the most infuriatingly immature witches on this planet, but she’s also experienced with the whole heart-pulling-you-in-all-different-directions kind of thing. And ghosts. She probably knows a helluva lot more than you or I do. She’s like what, sixty-years-old?”

  I gave him a look that said, ‘Are you kidding me?’

  “Mother wishes she was sixty. And that woman is about as reliable in the relationship department as a plastic cup is for mixing deadly potions that could melt someone’s face off. I don’t think she can help me.”

  “You may need to set aside your issues with her, otherwise, you’ll be stuck with show tunes and your lady bits will shrivel up and die.”

  I turned my head to stare at him with wide eyes. He just smirked and walked out of the back room.

  My lady parts won’t shrivel up. But I would be stuck with show tunes. Fuuuuuuuuuuck.

  “So, what is it that you’re making exactly?”

  I jumped at Button’s sudden intrusion. Toast, who’d been lounging on one of the racks, hissed viciously at him.

  At least he can see him.

  “Stop doing that!” I shouted at him. “Goddess! Ghost bells need to be invented for annoying shits like you.”

  “Look. We got off to a wrong start,” he said as he leaned against the wall across from me. Well, leaned against it was kind of relative, since he’d just fall through it if he actually did lean. “I’ve just been trying to get your attention. If you’ll hear me out, I’ll dial back on the annoying. Deal?”

  “Just dial it back? Why can’t you just stop? It isn’t that hard to be silent, ya know?” I said sarcastically as I shoveled my concoction into the plastic, skull shape molds to form my bombs.

  “Eh, I’ll think about it. It’s habit to be like this. Besides, it’s hard to want to be silent when only one person can hear you. You’re all I’ve got, Crafty, so might as well make the most of it.”

  “Don’t call me Crafty. It’s weird coming from you.”

  “Fine. I won’t as long as you don’t call me Button.”

  I grimaced. “See, no. I can’t. Your name is way too silver spoon for me.”

  He frowned. “Fine. As I was saying, Crafty, listen to my proposal and I’ll leave you alone.”

  I rolled my eyes at his use of my last name but stopped what I was doing and pulled off my gloves. I turned and leaned my hip on the counter to fully face him, crossing my arms to show I wasn’t up for bullshit.

  “You’ve got five minutes. Go.”

  He smirked. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” When I didn’t answer, he continued. “Okay, so I need your help to figure out what happened to me, then help me cross me over to whatever waits on the other side. I don’t wanna be stuck here as much as you don’t want me stuck here. So, let’s call a truce.”

  His smile was overly happy, and obviously fake. So, I just stood there giving him my best unimpressed face.

  "What is that? Why do you keep looking at me with that face?" He asked me.

  "Because you keep saying stupid things with yours. How else is it supposed to react?" I deadpanned.

  He glared at me, dropping the fake smile completely. "I don't think I like you."

  "And here I was thinking we were about to start braiding each other's hair." I snapped my fingers dramatically. "Damn."

  "A, I don't have enough hair for that in the first place. And B, why won't you just help me? What do you honestly have to lose?"

  I pretended to think about it. "Let's see; how about, I don't know, my life? That's a pretty big one, considering I have no idea who or what put you in that stone in the first place. If you haven't noticed, which I'm sure you have, since you perv out on me daily, I suck at being a witch."

  "Pfft. Yeah you do," he chuckled.

  "Not helping your case. At all," I stated blandly.

  He held his hands up defensively. "My bad. You're right," then he sighed. "Look, if you try to help me, then I promise I'll at least leave you alone while I'm here. I'll stay in the attic, so you never have to see me."

  "No, because that's my relaxation room where I burn incense and do yoga while getting in touch with my inner Zen."

  He raised a brow in suspicion and folded his arms. "Really?"

  I paused. "Well....no, but I could if I wanted to!"

  “Damn it, Christi! Please!” He pleaded; his expression one of utter desperation. Which suddenly made me feel like an asshole.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose and said a quick prayer to the Goddess, asking for the patience I was going to need to help this bastard out.

  “Fine. I’ll do it.”

  He smiled. “Yes! Thank you. Seriously. I swear, I’ll keep my end of the bargain.”

  I nodded with a strained smile. “Yep, well, I need to get back to work. So, bargain starts now.” I waved my hands at him to go away.

  “You got it, Crafty,” he said cheerfully, then gave me a two-finger salute and flew upwards through the ceiling.

  I sighed and dropped my chin to my chest.

  What have you gotten yourself into, Craft?

  Seven

  “Brain Bleach”

  I sent Milo a text the next day, asking him to look into anything out of the ordinary about the Arlington family and Button’s death. He shot me back a message stating he’d let me know if he found any results. I grabbed Toast and loaded us into my car. He needed to get out of the house for a bit. I missed spending time with the fluff ball anyway.

  Today was the day I’d be going to see my mother back in Stoneham. I wasn’t particularly excited about the prospect, but it was like a band aid with her. Just get it over with by ripping it off. I’d promised Button I’d help figure out what happened to him. But since it would take a bit to get anything back from Milo, Turk convinced me to go ahead and talk to my mother. At least get some kind of foot hole made, so it wasn’t as hard to climb out of the cataclysmic trench I’d dug myself into.

  As soon as I started the engine, Button suddenly appeared in the passenger seat. Toast let out a loud screech and practically leapt into the back seat like his tail was on fire. I glared at my ghostly passenger.

  “That was just rude. I warned you about popping in unannounced. It’s hard enough getting his furry ass in the car. I don’t need you freaking him out more.”

  Button huffed. “You don’t need my help doing that. Your cat is afraid of everything. I’m pretty sure I saw him fall off the counter yesterday in fright when the end of his tail brushed him.” He looked back at Toast, whose fur stood on end as he bared his little fangs.

  “Doesn’t matter. He’s an innocent creature. Stop scaring him. And me for that matter. Why are you in here anyway?” I asked him confused.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Figured I’d come along for the ride. I’ve heard of your mother and am curious.”

  I tensed. “I’m afraid to ask you what you’ve heard.”

  A delighted smile lit his face. “All kinds of things, Crafty. Your mom is a legend. Though, people try not to talk too much about her. Especially in public. They’re always afraid she’ll somehow hear them and curse them.”

  “Meh. You’ve got a point. Mother has no sense of the word privacy. You’ll see. My business is the kind she sticks her nose into most.” I put the car into drive and started our trip.

  For the first ten minutes,
all was quiet through the vehicle. Minus the two times I had to berate my feline companion for clawing at my seats. If he thought I wasn’t above declawing him, he was sorely mistaken. Button seemed perfectly happy with just watching out the window as the town slipped out of view.

  I took the silence to peek at him a few times, still trying to figure out why he looked so familiar to me.

  Oddly enough, his clothes weren’t the same today as the first time I saw him in my bathroom. I wasn’t aware spirits could change clothes like that. I guess it was possible since his form wasn’t even corporeal. The longer I stared at him though, the more curious I got about him.

  “How do you manage to sit in a seat? Or stay in the car without flying through it like the night I drove off without you?” I asked him.

  He turned his head to smile at me, obviously amused that I was asking him questions.

  “Not sure really. It’s more instinctual. What’s weird though, is I kind of feel it. Like when I focus hard enough, I feel almost solid rather than gaseous.” He shrugged again.

  I knew I wasn’t exactly an expert on spirits or any of the afterlife in general, but that just didn’t sound right to me. Ghosts shouldn’t be able to feel anything. They’re just the soul left over after the body dies. Emotions I could understand. But actual physical feeling? It was odd. Definitely something I’d have to bring up with my mother.

  “So, what’s your story?” Button asked me; his eyes zeroed in on me intensely.

  It was my turn to shrug. “Not much to say, honestly. Grew up in Stoneham. Stayed until I was about twenty. Moved in with Turk at some crappy apartment for a few years as I tried the whole college scene. Dropped out when I realized I wasn’t learning anything that was useful. Started making bath bombs and other bath products from home, mostly selling them on Etsy. Then a few years ago, Turk and I found the building the shop is in. We moved upstairs, opened the store, and haven’t looked back. That’s pretty much it.”

  He scoffed. “I find that hard to believe. That was too cut and dry to be a life story,” he argued.

  “Well you’re not exactly a fount of info either, Casper,” I remarked as I took the exit to Stoneham off I-95 South.

  “You didn’t ask me. You asked about my ghostly form. Not the same thing.”

  It took everything in me not to roll my eyes. “Fine. So, what’s your story?” I threw his words back at him in a sarcastic tone.

  He laughed. “That wasn’t so hard. To start, I come from a pretty big line of powerful fae. Not nearly as powerful as your mom, but pretty up there. Mom is the CEO of a high-end line of makeup called Flora Cosmetics. Pretty typical line of work for a fae woman considering nature is our source of power. The whole ‘anti-aging’ cream is her signature product,” he said with bunny quotes. “And dad owns and runs a major jewelry store called Arlington Gems. He inherited the legacy from his father, and his father from his. They all just kept passing it down. He’s got franchises from here to California. Alchemy is one of his many gifts, something he also gained from the men before him. Didn’t surprise me when I found out I was pretty good at it too.”

  Something about his dad being prolific with prized gems tugged at the back of my mind. Was he connected to the Labradorite stone? Yet another thing to question.

  “I was supposed to inherit his business and the family fortune once I reached thirty. It is kind of tradition for the first born to receive all inheritances by that age. I only had two years until it was mine. But, then I died apparently. No clue what happened. I can’t remember anything between waking up one morning to go over some paperwork with my father, and suddenly being in your shop. It’s completely blank.”

  As I listened, I became more and more suspicious of his family. Would his father be the type to kill his own son to avoid passing on his business?

  I didn’t get a chance to ask him anything else, because we’d pulled onto my mother’s street. Leave it to her to live down a road that no other houses were built on. She probably bought up all the lots to avoid any humans living close. Her nearest neighbor was a solid five minutes away.

  Thick trees lined the narrow, winding road that lead to her house. They’d grown so tall, they almost blocked out the sun as they formed a canopy above us. Their red and orange leaves littered the road as we drove, flying out of the way from the gust of wind my car created.

  I grimaced as her house came into view. It used to hold so much warmth for me when I was little, but the years away had given me perspective on just how lonely the home was. Now, it just held the woman who spent a majority of her time with men rather than me. It even looked gloomier than the last time I was here. You know those old Victorian houses you see in movies that look haunted? Yeah, her house was like that.

  With its mansard roof, dark wooden exterior, and ornate pillars, the house appeared as if it were brooding. The white paint on the wrap around porch and shutters was chipping away. The chimney spilled black smoke into the air, decorating the sky above the house with a sad cloud. The only thing that seemed to be kept up with, were the gardens that surrounded the foundation.

  Crimson and white bergamot, Wild Bleeding Hearts, and red clovers were tucked around the perimeter of the house. I recognized a few more varieties planted and knew she used most of them for potions and spells. She took pride in her gardens.

  The only thing I truly loved about this house, was the large white willow weeping in the front yard. It was the center point of it and had one massive branch with my old wooden swing still attached. I’d spent many days and nights under that tree, wishing to get away. I loved my mother, but she was next to impossible to live with.

  “So, are we getting out, or are you going to continue clutching your steering wheel for dear life?” Button asked; amusement tinged his words.

  I snapped out of my daydreaming and turned the car off. But still, I didn’t move.

  “Is she really that bad?” He asked me, some of the humor gone from his voice.

  “No. I just… I know her. Yeah, she may have some useful information, but I know it’ll be like pulling teeth trying to get it out of her. She’d much rather chatter on about my love life or lack thereof.”

  Button laughed. “You have more of a love life than you think. Don’t think I don’t see how flustered you get when Turk brings up that Warden Milo. Or how red you got when you talked to that Incubus guy. It’s entertaining actually.”

  I glowered at him. “I didn’t ask you your opinion, now did I?” I grabbed Toast from the back seat and threw my door open. Somehow, facing my mother’s interrogation felt like a safer bet than listening to Button’s testimony about how red my cheeks got when the men in my life were mentioned.

  My suede boots crunched on the gravel of the driveway as I walked to the porch. My heart hammered in my chest. Toast wiggled in my arms, wanting to get away from here about as much as I did. I climbed up the steps and heard what sounded like music coming from inside. I stopped as I faced the front door. I could feel the chill of Button’s form, hovering just behind my right shoulder. I pulled my black sweater tighter around me, pretending it was a barrier for the oncoming storm I was about to walk into. Automatically, I adjusted my black, floppy boho hat and ran a hand down my emerald, hi-lo bohemian dress, smoothing out the wrinkles as I steeled my breath.

  You dressed nice. Your makeup is perfect. You can do this. I pep talked myself.

  Here goes nothing.

  I knocked, practically holding my breath as I waited.

  When I could hear nothing but the music in the background, I knocked again – louder this time. Still nothing. I groaned in aggravation. I didn’t have time to just sit here and wait for her to walk here lazy ass to the door. So, I slowly twisted the knob and walked in.

  I set Toast down, watching him immediately take off to hide somewhere as I closed the door.

  “Mother?” I called out, hoping she wasn’t going to force me to go looking for her.

  When no answer greeted me, I sighed. Looks
like that’s exactly what I’ll have to do.

  I wrinkled my nose when the smell of incense burning hit my nostrils like a freight train. Mother always did love her incense. Though, the amount that was burning was a bit more than anyone should ever love. The dark, oak floorboards creaked beneath my feet as I walked around the first floor of the house, finding it empty.

  I found the source of the smell burning in the living room on the coffee table and fireplace mantle. I was positive I wouldn’t find her in the kitchen, so I completely skipped looking in there. Mother sucked at cooking. She’d only go in there if she was making coffee or tea for herself. I cautiously followed the music, which seemed to lead me upstairs. Surprisingly, it was a song I knew; Potions by See. Not my mother’s usual taste in music. Which made it even more shocking to hear as it blared loud enough to shake the house the further up the stairs I climbed.

  I passed my old bedroom door and continued down the long, dark hallway. I could still feel Button floating behind me, giving me at least a bit of comfort. I wasn’t sure what I’d find behind the door at the end of the hall. It was Mother’s room. That’s where the music was coming from, so I had no doubt that’s where I’d find her.

  However, my steps faltered as I got closer. I didn’t think I was prepared for whatever she was doing. Nothing good ever came from her door being closed in the middle of the day.

  Goddess, this sucked.

  “Just knock, ya big baby,” Button admonished me.

  I turned on him and placed my hands on my hips. “Here’s an idea, you float your translucent ass in there and warn me of whatever I’m walking into. How about that?”

  He shook his head. “Na, I’m good. It’s much more fun watching you torment yourself.”

  “Asshole.”

  “Chicken.”

  I threw my hands up in surrender. “Agh! Fine! But so help me, if you leave me at the mercy of what’s in there, I’ll ghostbuster your ass so fast, your ancestors will feel it in their graves.”

  Button snickered. “Yeah. Okay. Go on, Crafty.” He shooed at me with his hands.