“I’ll help you make the coffee. Add a little of this,” he said, handing me a silver flask.
“If you say so,” I said, taking it from him.
“You’re not pure Texas witch, chère. You old world?” he asked.
“Wherever my people might be from,” I said, “I’m one hundred percent Texan. Count on it.”
“She knows where our Vangie girl is,” Oatha said. Looking at me, she added, “You best not interfere.”
“With what? What are you planning to do to Vangie?” I asked.
Oatha glared at me.
“Momma?” he asked, leaning forward to smell my hair.
“Beau,” I said. “We don’t know each other well enough for me to be able to count the whiskers in your mustache. Why don’t you be a gentleman and step on back?”
“Who says I want to be a gentleman?”
“See how she tastes,” Oatha said.
“What the hell?” I snapped as he grabbed my upper arms in a vise grip. Intent as he was on pinning my arms to my sides as he licked my neck, I guess he didn’t expect me to react as fast as I did with a head-butt knee-slam-to-the-groin combination. He also might’ve forgotten about Mercutio. Merc’s not full-grown yet, so people sometimes mistake him for a house cat. That’s a mistake nobody makes twice if they get on the wrong side of his teeth or claws.
All I saw was a blur of fur as Merc landed on Beau’s shoulder and bit down on his ear.
Beau dropped like a stone from my between-the-legs blow, but he hollered and reared forward at Merc’s bite. He grabbed Mercutio and with three vicious jerks pulled Merc loose. It cost him an earlobe. He flung Mercutio, who sailed through the air, twisted in a half somersault, and landed on his feet. Those Cirque du Soleil guys had nothing on my cat. Merc slid backward a few inches before he got his grip on the floor, and then he was on his way back to us.
Oatha screeched a spell, arms outstretched. I slammed a palm into her back to send the spell wide. She knocked the table over to block Mercutio, and Beau clipped my leg, knocking me to the ground.
He backhanded me across the face and yelled a curse as he grabbed my hair. On the one hand, I was startled by the impact of the floor, the blow to my face, and the sharp stab of pain where his knee dug into my stomach. On the other hand, this wasn’t my first rodeo. As he raised his hand to hit me again, I whipped out my gun. I shoved the barrel against his throat.
“You sure you wanna do that, chèr?” I drawled, pressing the gun against him hard enough to dent his flesh. He checked his swing and held out his arms in surrender.
“Momma,” he said. “Enough.”
She panted with rage.
Beau leaned forward and rubbed his thumb in the blood that trickled from my nose. Then he bent forward and kissed my lips. I hit him behind the ear with the butt of the gun. It was no love tap, and his head jerked from the force of the blow. He bit my lip maliciously before he tumbled off me and drew back.
The sound Mercutio made when he pounced from the counter would’ve been enough to send anyone running for cover, and Beau barely managed to dodge away. Beau grabbed a butcher knife from the block and held it out.
“Call him back or I’ll gut him.”
I grabbed Mercutio with my left hand. “No, Merc,” I whispered frantically. “Not now.”
Mercutio squirmed and hissed as they backed away. To Merc, no fight is over if his enemies are still walking. “Not now,” I repeated, trying to soothe him.
“You’ll regret this, you redheaded McKenna bitch,” Oatha said. “I’ll see you cursed. I swear it on all my dead.”
“Y’all wanna threaten me, go ahead. But you might want to check the witch newspapers before you start a fight in Duvall where I’ve got the home field advantage. You won’t be the first who’ve tried. Hasn’t worked out for anybody so far.”
Too late, I saw her going for the door. I released Mercutio and lunged forward but not before she got the closet open. Luckily, there were only mops and buckets inside. Vangie must’ve left when I’d gone to the front door to let them in.
“Gone,” she announced, turning to Beau. “You have what I need?”
Beau wiped his thumb on an old piece of cloth that looked like burlap. “Yeah, Momma. She’s all ours.” He nodded menacingly at me. “You shouldn’t have interfered.”
I tightened my muscles, ready for another attack, and stared them down with a cold glare.
“See you soon, chère,” he said as he backed out of the room, my butcher knife still in his free hand.
“Not if I see you first,” I murmured. “By the way!” I called out as they crossed to the foyer. “We’ve got a grocery store and several boutiques in town that all carry soap. I’d appreciate it if you’d use some before you attack me next time!”
The only answer I got was the door slamming.
“You know what, Mercutio? I’m beginning to think Vangie might be right about her stepfolk being murderers.”
Mercutio hissed and then drank from his water bowl, sticking his tongue in and out of the water more times than he needed to for a simple drink.
“He tasted bad, huh? I don’t doubt it.” I tucked my gun away and dabbed my nose with a wet washcloth. “Even though it must be convenient to have a deadly weapon like your teeth handy all the time, I bet there are some days when you wish you could just shoot people.”
Mercutio didn’t disagree.
11
I WISHED I could go back to sleep, but sometimes trouble was like a boulder rolling downhill. Once it got started, it was hell to stop.
The phone rang at ten thirty. I expected it to be Vangie calling me back, since I’d left her several voicemails, but instead it was from Bryn’s house. I snatched it up.
“Hello?” I said.
“Tammy Jo?” It was Bryn’s night security officer.
“Yes, Steve. What’s up?” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Are you planning on coming over here tonight?” he asked.
“I can be,” I said, tossing the throw blanket aside. “What’s wrong?”
“I think it would be a good idea for you to drop by. Mr. Jenson’s worse, but he won’t agree to see Dr. Suri.”
My stomach lurched. Bryn had said Mr. Jenson had a cold. It shouldn’t have been serious. Of course any illness could sneak up on an elderly person. “Bryn should tell Dr. Suri to come to the house so Mr. Jenson doesn’t have to go out.” I mounted the stairs.
“Yeah, it’s not happening. Usually the boss is patient where the old guy’s concerned, but he’s a little ‘the worse for whiskey’ tonight. Did you guys have a fight or something?”
“Or something,” I huffed, propping my phone on my shoulder so I could change clothes and talk at the same time. “But don’t worry. I’ll be over in a few minutes. Hold down the fort.”
I tossed “just in case” sneakers into a tote bag. Bryn and Mr. Jenson will take me as I am, but for a sit-down talk with Mr. Jenson and a face-to-face with Bryn under the “he’s probably really mad at me” circumstances, I wanted to wear something they’d really approve of. Some men bring out the worst. Some men bring out the Sunday best. Mr. Jenson brings out the “what would I wear for tea with the queen?”
I wore black slacks, a blue sweater with tiny pearls around the collar that I’d bought to wear to a baby shower, and a pair of black heels, not too tall, but not shabby either. They had eyelet lace at the edges, making my feet look extra pretty.
I brushed my teeth and hair and put on mascara and lipstick.
When I got downstairs, I tucked a gun and knife into the tote. Then I wrapped up some lemon pound cake with vanilla icing and several cranberry orange scones. I regretted that I didn’t have time to make chicken noodle or vegetable barley soup. I really needed to freeze some for emergencies.
I called for Mercutio, but he was obviously out of earshot because he didn’t bolt into the room. I locked the door and windows, thinking Merc would have to manage on his own till I got back or meet
me at Bryn’s. Merc’s an expert at tracking me down.
I got in my car and decided not to take Main Street, knowing it would be the way people would expect me to take across town. I also figured I’d have an easier time seeing anyone who was trying to follow me if I was off the main drag.
I kept an eye on my rearview mirror but didn’t see any headlights. A block from Magnolia Park, I figured I was in the clear. A pinging sound on my roof made me reconsider. I zigged and zagged down the street. It sounded like hail, but it wasn’t. I braked so I could get a better look at the nut that rolled down the windshield and off the hood.
“What the Sam Houston? Are squirrels on the offensive now, too?” I bent my head, straining to get a look into the trees. Not spying any warrior squirrels or other small fur-covered creatures, like hobgoblins, I started the car forward. Then I heard a thunk followed quickly by a second one that caused my car to lurch. As I rolled forward, I felt the car pull to the right and realized what the sound had been. I had a flat tire.
Damn it!
I threw the car into park and grabbed my tote. Not sure which weapon I needed, I tucked the gun into the back of my slacks, which I regretted wearing. First, because they wouldn’t hold the gun as firmly in place as my Levi’s, but also because the pants were a wool blend and therefore dry clean only. What the heck had I been thinking wearing angora and wool? Clearly, I hadn’t totally gotten the hang of being under siege.
I wished I had a knife holder I could strap to my calf. Also, I really needed to think about getting a dagger or hunting knife. Since a butcher knife would’ve been too likely to cut through my tote bag, I’d settled on a steak knife, which against a rib eye on a plate would do just fine, but it lacked the length and razor-sharp edge I prefer to threaten a live opponent with.
A rock slammed into the passenger window and shattered it. I jumped, yanked on my door handle, and rolled from the seat into the street. I used the car for cover. Clearly whoever was attacking was shadowed by the trees on the far side of the car. Behind me on the driver’s side there were houses where people were probably getting ready for bed or watching television.
“Let’s take this fight outside the neighborhood,” I called out in a whisper. “My neighbors have been through a lot, and I’ve sort of gotten a reputation of late that I don’t want to—”
Another rock—a big one by the sound of it—hit the side of the car, crumpling metal. I winced, imagining the dent.
“Damn it!” I snapped. I had a huge deductible, and I wasn’t set to cover any more bodywork on my car. I crept around to the back of the car, peering into the woods. That last rock had been too big to have been hoisted by a hobgoblin. Could it be Oatha and Beau? If so, where was their car? And how would they have known where to find me?
The night air was cool, crisp, and clean. I sniffed and then inhaled more deeply. Unless I was pretty far upwind, there was no way this assault against me and my Focus was coming from Vangie’s nasty step-people. The air smelled earthy and fresh, like leaves after spring rain. I took off my fancy shoes and my footie nylons and slipped them into the tote. I’d be better off in bare feet in the woods.
“Trees,” I whispered, inching toward them. “It’s Tammy Jo Trask. ’Member me? I’m coming to visit. If you could see your way to giving me a hand against whoever’s shooting at me, I’d appreciate it.”
I sprinted from the street, over the lawn, and between two large trees. Most of the lower branches swayed out of my way, but one thick branch swung into my path. I couldn’t stop in time and it caught me across the lower ribs, knocking me backward. I lost my breath when I landed.
“Mean,” I complained, wheezing. I got up and moved forward gingerly, my ribs smarting with every step. The lone woody aggressor swung even lower, as if to trip me. I feigned turning but at the last second darted forward and hopped over the branch. I ran forward to be sure that it didn’t catch me in the back. Unfortunately, I was no farther than a few feet when a vine caught my right ankle. I pitched forward, but instead of falling, I was scooped up by some kind of mesh and thrust into the air. A moment later, I bobbed like a rabbit in a snare.
“Oh,” I said, swinging in the human-sized pouch I was caught in. “This is why you wanted me to go the other way, Tree.” I shook my head. “You were right. But you hit me so hard, I didn’t realize it was a hint, not an assault. Next time, I’ll know,” I murmured.
I ran my hands over the mesh. It wasn’t a fishing net. It was made of something soft, like finely woven silk lace. And it was coated with something that rubbed off on my hands and made my head buzz.
“Uh-oh,” I murmured. “I need to hurry, don’t I? There’s something . . .” I twisted around for my tote. I opened it and found the steak knife. I poked its tip into the mesh, which actually seemed to push back. “No way,” I growled, thrusting and sawing madly without making any significant progress. The satiny substance on the fabric clung to my skin, making it tingle and almost . . . shimmer.
“Tree,” I said, trying to suppress giddy laughter that bubbled up like sparkling wine. “I’m having some problems here. Could you help? Could you drop this Tammy bag? Just swing it right off your branch?” I wiggled to get the pouch swinging. I felt the branch move and the pouch pop over a few feet. “That’s it. Keep going! Whoa!” I exclaimed as I lost control of the swinging motion, and the pouch string twisted as it spun in a circle.
The whirling motion as the pouch’s securing ropes unfurled made me lose all sense of place. I fell against the side of the pouch and had a vision, either a hallucination or a premonition, I couldn’t be sure. All I knew was that I was on a blue and gray bridge that looked like someone had started to make a castle and decided to make a bridge instead. I ran because someone chased me. I saw the twinkling lights of a big city and knew that if I could just reach the street, I’d be safe.
I glanced down and saw my feet, which were tattooed with gold and green vines. I sprinted with a racing heart, hearing the pounding footfalls of my pursuers.
Run. Run faster!
Go, go, go!
In an instant, the bridge under my feet disappeared. I felt the pouch swing in a long arc and then I sailed through the air. I heard an angry voice, speaking a language I didn’t understand. It sounded like Gaelic, which Bryn sometimes spoke. The trees made angry sounds in return.
My ears hummed. “Ours,” the trees seemed to say. “Unlike you, she’s ours.”
“Aw,” I said, wanting to give them a hug. Even the Duvall trees were loyal. I felt myself spinning end over end and then I hit the ground and rolled a few more feet. It took me a few minutes to fight my way out of the pouch. No wonder there’s that expression, madder than a bag of cats. Being stuck in a bag is frustrating as all get-out. It could definitely drive somebody crazy.
When I had a Tammy Jo–sized hole in the top of the pouch, I shot through it and rolled away. The dirt and grass soothed my skin, which tingled to the point of pain. I landed in some fern fronds and would’ve lain there for a few minutes watching the stars dance in the sky, but I heard someone running toward me.
I might be out of the sack, but I wasn’t out of the woods yet. Literally.
12
I ROLLED ONTO my hands and knees, scrambled up, and lurched forward, sprinting through the woods.
“Hello, dirt,” I whispered breathlessly. “Show me the way to the muddy banks of the Amanos River.”
I closed my eyes and concentrated on the feel of the earth beneath my feet and between my toes. It was almost like I was flying through the forest, like an Ewok on a Star Wars speeder. Everything whizzed past, chirping crickets and whirring wind all around me.
Can’t catch me, I thought, and laughed.
I heard a male voice exclaim something in the distance and knew that branches and vines got in his way.
“Nope, can’t have me. I belong to this town and it belongs to me.”
I burst from the woods, my eyes popping open as I ran out of grass and landed hard in the st
reet.
I panted for breath, the world spinning like the teacup ride at a carnival. I staggered across the street and for a few minutes I wasn’t sure where I was, and I wanted to turn back to the woods. When I fell against a street sign, I held on and looked up. Sycamore Street. I was near the Amanos and near Bryn’s house.
“Wasn’t I going there?” I mumbled. My skin and clothes were covered in something that felt a lot like pixie dust but had a slightly tangy taste. The ground shimmered as if lit by a candle from underneath. “I’m not lost,” I swore to myself, but my body was all kinds of crazy, jittering and weaving. It was like I’d drunk twenty tequila shots and then tried a hit of some scary wind-you-up drug like cocaine. I shook till my teeth rattled and my tongue did a dance against the back of my teeth.
“I gotta get this stuss—stuffs off me,” I mumbled. “Before that guy catches up.” I stripped down to my underwear and dove into the grass. I grabbed handfuls, apologizing for pulling it out, and rubbed it over my skin wherever it glowed golden.
After a few minutes, I was steady enough to walk. Barely.
I meandered down the street, glad when I got to Bryn’s neighborhood. Whenever possible, I walked on the grass because the asphalt felt hard and cold and foreign against my soles. If I hadn’t been raised by people, I would’ve made a good forest nymph. Or half-fae girl Tarzan. Being reared by apes didn’t appeal to me, but chimps are cute. Or better still, I could’ve been raised by an ocelot. Merc could’ve been my stepbrother, the two of us a pair of cubs trying to make our way in a mad magical world. I giggled until my sides hurt and I fell over. I rolled around on the grass for a few minutes until I got my bearings. I grabbed my head to steady it on my shoulders and then stood. The world seemed to wobble, but I was pretty sure that I was the one wobbling.
Slightly Spellbound Page 9