Fangs and Frenemies

by Cherry Andrews

  Wow, I hadn’t even thought about that. “You’re right.” I touched his arm. “I’m sorry I missed your texts. I goofed, big-time.”

  “Yeah you did . . . but it’s ok.” He let out a breath, then ruffled my hair. Which felt slightly awkward, like I was a little sister getting hazed by a big brother. Not exactly romantic.

  But at least he no longer felt like a stranger.

  “I promise not to worry you like that again,” I said, relieved that things were feeling more normal already. Now that I thought about it, maybe it was for the best he’d cut me off before I revealed that Max and I were teaming up to do our own investigation. That would surely make him worry more.

  Weird that he’d never seemed worried about anything before that I could remember. But then I’d never done anything to cause him stress before. Our relationship was like an unspoken pact against anxiety.

  “Hey, want to go to the grocery store and buy more caramel ice cream?” I asked, realizing we’d just had our second fight.

  “Nah, sounds like work. Let’s stick this bad boy back in the freezer till it’s half frozen and make milkshakes.”

  I whistled. “I like your style.”

  “Thought you’d approve.” Bryson gave me a knowing smile. “And there’s just enough time for two episodes of Frankie and Grace before you’ll want to kick me out and draw yourself a nice hot bath. With fizzy bath bombs.”

  Maybe I was wrong.

  Maybe Bryson knew me pretty darn well, after all.

  At least in the ways that mattered.

  That night, after my fizzy bath, I couldn’t get to sleep.

  I closed my eyes and breathed in the lavender scent of my eye pillow. But kept thinking about Kade’s being at the country club during Ashlee’s wedding. Was he the one she was searching for in the parking lot?

  Even if he were secretly meeting up with Ashlee, and maybe handing her a stack of papers, it was probably for some dodgy yet fairly innocuous reason.

  Still, it was awfully damn suspicious behavior.

  I needed to know the truth about what he was doing there . . . but ramble juice didn’t work on shifters. I was—grudgingly—appreciative of Max for having established that.

  But there had to be another spell that did work on her kind.

  I rose from bed, flipped on the light, and stalked to the built-in cookbook shelf above my kitchenette’s work counter. Sweeping aside the bread-baking bible and a stack of King Arthur Flour catalogs, I dug out the row of magic books that were hidden behind it.

  I spent the rest of the night combing through them.

  Halfway through the last book, I found what I was looking for.

  The spell was called “A Dreamland Visitor.”

  It was in a section of the book called “Spells that Require the Help of Demons.”

  Gran had never taught me how to summon a demon. Though there were a handful of Green magic spells that used demon partners, it was way more of a Black magic phenomenon and she clearly didn’t approve of it. So of course I’d never tried it.

  Well, I thought, first time for everything.

  My hands were shaking as I chopped the herbs to make the calling potion:

  With this catnip and savory, I call you

  Honor’d demon, who plays many roles

  Sandman, King of Sleep, they call you

  Make me an extra, on the sets of dreaming souls

  Poof.

  Suddenly there was a woman in my kitchen, or what looked like a woman. She had dark blue skin and even darker blue hair and wore a silver caftan-thing that looked awfully comfortable.

  “Who is the witch that summons me?” Her voice was rich and pleasant, and extremely relaxing.

  “Wow,” I said, and realized I was having to blink a lot to keep my eyes from closing.

  “What are you looking at?” The demon covered her mouth. “Something in my teeth?”

  “No, it’s just that you’re female. I thought the Sandman would be . . . well, a man.”

  “The first one was.” You could tell she was tired of getting this question from ignorant witches. “Our line has gone on for thousands of years. There are quite a few of us now, it’s one big happy family. Sandman One, as we affectionately call our ancestor, still does a few gigs here and there. But mostly just for celebs at this point. If you want him to answer your call next time, you’re going to need to bake something extraordinary.”

  “Wow, you know that I’m a baker?” I was suddenly reminded of Leeza, Estelle Kensington’s hardworking assistant, putting me in her spreadsheet. “Don’t tell me, you have a database of all the Earth’s active Green Witches.”

  “Nah, it was obvious you bake.” She pointed to the stacks of baking magazines on the counter. “I mean we do keep note of prominent witches in our family book, but you wouldn’t be in it yet. We spend so little time on Earth that usually by the time a witch gets listed, her power is on the wane. The best we can do is contact her successor.”

  “Well, I’m Hazel Greenwood. My grandmother’s Sage Friedman. Her grandmother was Marjoram Boyd, known to ordinals as Marge.”

  Her eyebrows went up slightly. I wouldn’t have noticed except that her face was so still otherwise. “Ah, I knew Marjoram. She once had me look into her husband’s dreams to see if he was having an affair . . . and goodness boy howdy, was he ever.”

  I cringed. “Yikes, I really didn’t need to know—“

  “Lovely witch, Marjoram. Smelled like rosemary.” She shrugged. “It’s a shame that your lives are so short, I would have liked to chat with her again. She had great energy.”

  “I . . . ” What was there to say to that? I was starting to get a sense of how demons were not quite like us. “Thanks? And what shall I call you?”

  “You could try my name.” She took a deep breath and said something that sounded like a sneeze mixed with a spit. “Or you may call me Sandman Three Hundred and Six. The Ancient Greeks called me Nyx, but I’ve never loved that nickname.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, I’m not into nicknames either. Nix on the Nyx.”

  “Excellent.” Her calm face did not break into a smile and I realized she had no smile lines, which was part of what made her look unearthly. “Now, if you’re here for a dream spell, you’ll first need to bake a batch of dream cookies. I’ll email you the recipe.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Don’t worry, it’s simple. But, it’s important that you add this.” She reached into her caftan pocket and pulled out what looked like a pickle jar. I stared because the jar was much bigger than the pocket. Suspend inside were what appeared to be tiny chocolate clouds. “They produce vanilla rain,” she explained. “It creates an exquisite mouthfeel, this ingredient. You can’t get this texture anywhere in your dimension. Split one cookie into pieces, and offer one to your subject, one to yourself. Next pluck one hair from the head of your subject and place it in a boiling cauldron along with this list of herbs.”

  I winced. “Sorry, do I really need to pluck the hair?”

  “No, no, that’s just poetic language. Any way you can get it is fine. Oh, and the final step. To enter your dream-observer body, which I’ll be custom crafting for you—”

  “Nice.”

  “—you’ll need to plunge your own hand into the boiling cauldron.”

  “Uh . . . more poetic language?” I asked hopefully.

  “No, you really have to experience the searing pain for the spell to work. But don’t worry it’ll pass in a second or two. I can already tell it will be a pleasure working together.”

  “Me too,” I said, and wondered what the hex I’d gotten myself into. “Wait, before you go, it doesn’t say anything in the book about how I pay you?”

  Sandman 306 again made that subtle eyebrow twitch that I thought might be a smile in a human. “This is a funny question, Hazel Greenwood. For you are paying me even as we speak.”

  “I am . . . ? Wait, what does that mean?”

  I blinked, and she was gone. I
threw myself on my bed and immediately fell into a deep, still sleep.

  Chapter 10

  Jenna Jeffries was sitting sideways in her SUV’s driver’s seat, pretzeled into a pose that only a Booty Camp instructor could pull off. She tugged on a pair of ultra-high heels—the fourth pair I’d seen her try on. A reject pile of sexy stilettos covered the upholstery of her passenger seat.

  Thanks to the spy cam Max had hidden in Jenna’s moon roof, I could observe the endurance sport that was Jenna getting ready to go out, all from the comfort of my couch.

  It was 9 PM on Wednesday night, and Jenna finally started the car, looking more date ready than I’ve ever looked in my life. She wore a little black dress with a low scoop neck. Her glossy caramel brown hair was styled half up, half down. Her cheekbones hard as glass.

  Wrapped in my Snuggee blanket, watching the feed from my couch, I felt exhausted just from looking at her.

  Then again it had been a long day.

  At lunch Max dropped me off at the repair shop to pick up Trixie, whose engine was running again.

  But Trixie wasn’t acting quite like herself.

  Instead of, Hey, doll, or even grumbles about my choice of auto shop, she’d greeted me with, “Can I interest you in a complimentary bottle of seltzer? That comes with our VIP package.”

  Her voice was upbeat and polite. Actually she was less annoying, believe it or not. But it was like the brass had been scraped off of her.

  I checked my purse for my invisibility mints, threw on a pair of comfy flats, and jogged to my car, where I dictated a text to Max: “It’s go time. Jenna’s driving somewhere, looking super dolled up.”

  “Get the juice, girl!” Trixie piped up. “Have a fab time spying on Jenna.”

  I shook my head. “What exactly did they do to you at that shop?”

  “Service was good to excellent. Four stars. Would get repaired there again. Why?”

  I hesitated. “Honk once if you’re ok?”

  “I’m beyond ok, I’m achieving self-actualization.”

  “Well, all right.” I still had no idea what caused the electrical hiccup that shut her down in the first place, but the shop had assured me that with a car this old it was just a matter of time. I was grateful they’d had given her a new lease on life, even if getting serviced scrambled her personality.

  Max texted back what we were thinking: Hot date with DK?!

  That was the tantalizing possibility on both our minds, of course. If Jenna was secretly seeing Drew Kensington, Ashlee’s husband, the two of them would become our joint prime suspects.

  Which means I would be following two possible murderers. Gulp.

  Hey, want to join me, for backup? I wrote to Max.

  She texted back: I would but to be honest . . . I’ve kinda been stalking Britt tonight.

  U Serious? I texted back.

  Sorry . . . not sorry. Something about her I don’t trust. Can’t put my finger on it.

  You just don’t like her.

  You shouldn’t either, she shot back. Oh! She’s walking out the door now.

  You were spying inside her house?! Did Max have no sense of privacy whatsoever—had she ever spied on me?

  It might interest you to know that Britt’s wearing all black, from hat to sneakers.

  I typed furiously. Why would I care what she’s wearing? How is that any of our business?

  Because that’s not how she rolls normally. She’s dressed to commit a crime.

  I swallowed. Britt, much as I wanted her to be new and improved, might have grown up to be a killer. Stay safe. :/

  Whatever, I could kick her skinny butt, and would enjoy doing so.

  I had to smile at that. Down, kitty.

  Max posted a LOL emoji. But srsly, keep your distance from Jenna and Drew, there’s two of them.

  Will do.

  To my disappointment, the GPS tracker suggested that Jenna was heading toward downtown Ocean Street. Well, she was unlikely to be having a tryst with Drew Kensington out in public like that.

  But that didn’t mean Britt had necessarily lied about Drew. A floozy like Jenna could easily be dating multiple peoples’ husbands, including ordinary Joes who would deign to be seen downtown.

  I ordered the new, sleek and personality-free Trixie to head to the waterfront after her.

  “Sounds like you’re looking to chillax after a hectic day!” she said smoothly, and turned the radio to the 80s station. Trixie turning the channel to something I liked without my having to beg her? Now that was a first.

  Maybe I could deal with this new version?

  Minutes of my singing Madonna’s “Like a Virgin” later, my camera app showed Jenna parking her car along the beach. There wasn’t much moonlight but I could see the gentle waves breaking through her side window. It was low tide.

  As Jenna grabbed her coat from the back of her SUV, an odd detail caught my eye. She had one of those bumper stickers that says, My Kid is an Honor Student. I almost laughed at the thought of wild, flighty Jenna being a mom, let alone of an honor student. It didn’t fit my image of her.

  But of course, she was a mom. Famously so.

  How had I forgotten that Jenna had a kid, a kid who must be around ten by now? After crowning all high school clichés by getting pregnant on prom night, she and the girl’s father got married and then, a few years later, divorced—an all-too-common story in Blue Moon Bay. The rare high school sweethearts who stayed together were envied and held up as examples. It was a jungle out there.

  I sent a sigh of gratitude to Bryson, for rescuing me from the jungle of singleness. Then I parked a block away from Jenna and hid behind the Blue Moon Bay Row Club’s boathouse to crunch my invisibility mints.

  They worked disturbingly fast. I waved my hand in front of my face and saw . . . nothing. The spell could only be undone by the first word I spoke.

  Jenna retrieved her purse from the trunk of her car and threw on a long black peacoat. But instead of turning toward the bars and restaurants on the waterfront, she hopped down the concrete steps that led to the beach. Was she meeting her date there? Romantic, if a little cold this time of year.

  I hurried after Jenna, whose pointy heels sank into the sand, making her easy to follow from about ten feet behind. The wind covered the wet crunch of my own footfalls on the sand. Luckily no one else was walking the beach at this hour, to note the eerie sight of my footprints that appeared not to be attached to anyone.

  But if no one else was here, what was Jenna doing? Was it possible she was just taking the long way to the bars—bonus cardio?

  She kept walking, swiftly, eagerly, toward a dimly lit cove. Oh, my! She wasn’t meeting someone at a bar after all. This really could be a tryst with Drew.

  “Yoo hoo, over here, babe!” called a high female voice.

  Perched on a boulder in the little cove was . . . Britt. I groaned inwardly. Jenna had gotten this dressed up—just to impress an old friend?

  At times like this, I didn’t understand my gender.

  “Hey, girl, what’s happening?” Jenna simpered. “I was so happy when you texted. Let’s do a shot at every bar, just like old t—“

  “I am very hungry, Jenna.” Britt didn’t even bother to try to sound charming. “I need you to lean to the side and stretch your neck, before I starve.”

  I froze. Holy goodness. Britt hadn’t called up an old friend to hang out and drink.

  She was a freakin’ vampire.

  Jenna was about to be her next meal.

  “Sure thing, girl . . . ” Jenna sounded dreamy, and I remembered with a chill Britt’s statement that people would follow her anywhere. Of course. She had serious powers of compulsion.

  “Good job, J.” Britt’s fangs were out—damn it, they looked adorable on her. “Now move aside all that flat ironed hair and extensions. I don’t want to choke on that mess.”

  “No problem, Britt!”

  Oh God. Now what? All I had with me was my calming herbs necklace, but what if it d
idn’t work on vampires? It barely worked on anyone.

  Where was my backup? Where was Max?

  I stood petrified, wondering how I could stop the murderer from striking again. Because now the pieces all fit together and for the first time I really understood that Ashlee was not coming back. She was dead. Britt must have lured her old buddy Ash out here too, and feasted on her blood.

  I had to save Jenna.

  I reached for my necklace, but opening the locket wasn’t a cinch while invisible. While I was messing around with the stupid thing, Britt lunged for Jenna’s neck.

  As she chomped, daintily, a spotted feline leapt from the shadows.

  It charged Britt, knocking her down.

  “Oh for God’s sake!” Sounding more annoyed than harmed, Britt sat up and threw the bobcat several feet. Whoa.

  The cat snarled, sounding pretty annoyed itself.

  “Do I hide in the woods, Max?” Britt continued to address the cat as you would a person. “Do I wait for you to sink your teeth into a rabbit so I can knock it out of your mouth? And I’m not even hurting her, see?

  Jenna did not in fact appear hurt. Sighing with pleasure, she sank into the sand beside Britt, who touched her lips to the bitten spot on her neck. The mark vanished.

  The bobcat hesitated.

  “Now she’s healed.” Was it my imagination, or did Britt sound relieved? As if she hadn’t been 100 percent sure things would go well. “After five minutes or so, she’ll remember nothing so I usually shoo her along by then. This was the highlight of her week, guys. In fact, that’s a problem.” Her fangs receded as her expression grew serious. “She’s a bit addicted to the high.”

  “Wowee, is that a bobcat?” Jenna said dreamily. Britt was right, she was high as a kite. “Omigosh, it’s so cute. I want it to be my pet so I can love it forever. No . . . my blanket. No . . . my coat. Area rug.”

  While she was deliberating, lying in the sand staring at the sky, the bobcat’s fur began to shimmer. Max stood in front of us, naked.

  “Uncalled for.” Britt averted her gaze, as did I.

  “You said she’d forget everything in five minutes.” Max shrugged, clearly not embarrassed in the least. “Couldn’t pass up a chance to freak out an ordinal without consequences.”