Fangs and Frenemies

by Cherry Andrews

  “Witches who aren’t advanced enough in their training to be able to read auras,” I went on, not caring what anyone thought but Gran and my friends. “Witches with anxiety . . . who maybe at first appreciate the reduction in anxiety that being around you offers. You knew my grandmother must have objected to you based on your aura, and you tried to throw me off by showing me that photo of William Haverford Smythe, who fought in the revolutionary war. Claiming you just had a little bit of demon DNA. But really, that was a picture of you, wasn’t it? What’s your Sandman number?”

  “What is she saying?” Cindra yelled. “Is it crazy conspiracy theory kind of stuff? Sounds like it.”

  “You did everything you could to lull me into thinking I was loved by you. But you were just going to leach me dry.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic, Haze.” He smiled affectionately, and right in front of my eyes his skin turned a deep, cold blue.

  “Awesome,” Britt said under her breath.

  “Told you!” Max reached for another drumstick.

  “What am I seeing?” My dad rubbed his eyes, sounding hysterical. “Are there drugs in this turkey breast? Did Slowby drug me?”

  My mother couldn’t answer because she’d fainted into her mashed potatoes, and Bea had to scrabble to clear mom’s nose and mouth of spuds.

  “Aw, I wasn’t gonna kill you, silly bear,” Bryson said. “With the human energy I get from clients as a side dish, I’d never need to drain you fully. If we went through with the wedding—I was on the fence, to be honest—then you’d just have spent the rest of your life exhausted and never quite knowing why. Big deal, half the humans in America feel that way.”

  “Hold up, you hadn’t decided if you were really going to marry me? But you had that happy dream about . . . oh my God, you can control dreams.” I gasped in realization. “Because you’re a Sandman demon. That’s why everything about you is soothing, relaxing. When I gave you the dream cookie, you must have recognized the ingredient that came from your own dimension. Your reaction was a clue, but I was too deep in denial.”

  “Yeah you were. To be honest, I’m surprised you got wise to me. But it’s no big. I’m a bit relieved to move on.” He stood and wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin. “You were a killer source of energy, but you’re not that great a catch.”

  Max groaned. “Unbelievable.”

  “How can you have the gall to say that to her?” Britt demanded.

  “Easy. Consider her socks.”

  “What?” I glanced down at my whimsical alligator socks, which opened to a toothy green snout that appeared to be snapping around my ankles. “They’re quirky, but adorable.”

  Bryson—or should I say William—laughed a deep, evil laugh. “Sure, if you were ten years old. Could you be any more of a dork?”

  Instead of slapping his face, I forced myself to think about the question, as if it were sincere. Sure, there were bigger dorks than me in the world (Max came to mind), but he had a fair point. Grandma Sage had always said I was a late bloomer who’d outgrown my awkwardness, but even now I remained a little awkward. Even at twenty-eight, I was a little immature. But that was just me. And I wasn’t hurting anyone.

  “You know, I might have been ok with marrying a demon,” I said, realizing I was more open-minded than Gran. “But you tricked me and, what’s worse, you wasted my time. And that’s a cardinal sin against a woman. My clock is ticking, buddy.”

  “Babe, you’re lucky for the time I did put in. I doubt anyone else will be that generous.”

  I swallowed. My romantic history tended to agree with him, but I told myself that history didn’t have to repeat. I was still evolving. “I may not be everyone’s cup of tea,” I said, reaching for all the strength I had in me. “But somewhere out there is a man who’s honestly going to love my puns and my cupcakes and my whimsical socks. And that man is going to love the socks right off of me.”

  He chortled. “Real talk? Your best hope is to get a cat. Or seven.”

  “All right, out of my house.” Grabbing my blue crystal pendent that I used for demon summoning, I chanted the spell for Good Riddance. An escort of six blue-skinned Sandman demons appeared before my speechless family.

  “Honored Witch.” Their leader gave a ceremonial bow. “You called those of us on active duty to rid you of a menace from our re—oh, dude, check it out. It’s William.”

  I blinked. “Wait . . . you know him?”

  “Haven’t seen him in awhile, ma’am, but yes, you could say we know William. Sandman One Thousand Three Hundred Twelve. This guy’s borrowed lunch money from quite a few of us and never paid it back.”

  “Fellows, I was leaving the building anyway. There’s really no need to cast me from this dimension.”

  “It’s not up to us, man,” the leader said.

  “Haze,” he begged. “We had fun, right? Face it, I was the best boyfriend you’ll ever have.”

  “If you cast him out, will it take him hundreds of years to be able to return?” I asked hopefully. By then I’d be long dead.

  “Nah, probably more than one year, but less than a dozen. Five is average.”

  I thought about it. If I cast him out, would Bryson return wanting revenge in a few years? Then I realized if I didn’t cast him out, he was liable to prey on more young witches like me. “Do your thing, boys.”

  “Take care of yourself, Haze,” Bryson/William said ominously, while the blue-skinned demons wrapped him in a net of ice. “Because when I’m back in your dimension, and I will be back, I’ll be sure to swing by your neck of the woods for a little chat.”

  “Great, I’ll make you a cup of tea and a cookie.” Pure bravado. I was shaking underneath. But at least I wouldn’t have to think about his potential return for over a year.

  The demon crew dematerialized. Leaving my whole family with their jaws on the floor.

  Well, except for Gran. She was smiling at me from the bottom of her soul. “Outstanding party, Hazel dear.” She raised her glass and drank deeply of the wine. Then she whispered a few words and poofed.

  I turned to Britt, who was beaming at me too. As was Max. “Tell them to forget all of that, Britt,” I said, then remembered I was telling a vampire what to do and added, “Please.”

  “I totally will,” she began, and grabbed my hand. “And I’m so, so proud of you, Hazel . . . ”

  “Thanks!”

  “But also?” She took a drooling glance across the room where Grant was still laser focused on the game. “Do you think, once I’ve cleared their memories . . . ? ”

  “Sure. You can have seconds of Grant.” Unlike those little sticks Jenna and Ashlee, my brother-in-law was a hulk of a dude. He could handle one more bite.

  Besides, it was a feast day, after all.

  Chapter 17

  “I can’t think of a delicate way to say this,” Max said, “but I would claw someone’s eyes out for a white mocha right about now. From you-know-where.”

  She and Britt and I were lounging on my couch, minutes after my family had walked to their cars—politely, quietly, and bearing foil wrapped leftover platters. Britt’s vampiric compulsion had not only made them forget the supernatural drama of my breakup with Bryson it also made them more docile, if only temporarily.

  I’d have to keep that trick in mind.

  “How could you possibly cram in a mocha or anything else, after the feast I just fed you?” I shook my head in wonder at Max’s shifter metabolism. She ate more than any woman I knew. “Anyway, it’s Thanksgiving. Not even that place is open.”

  Britt and Max looked at each other, as if silently drawing straws for who should be the one to break the news to me.

  “Oh. Java Kitty’s open on Thanksgiving?”

  Britt must have pulled the short straw. “They’re now open 24/7, 365 days a year.”

  “Ugh. Fine.” I stood with a sigh and grabbed my blue peacoat off its hook by the door. “I guess I can take the smell for a minute or two. I’ve been meaning to ask the own
er, Elton, a few questions.”

  “You two have fun, I’m gonna head home.” Britt dug into her stylish clutch purse for her keys. “Grant’s blood was so filling, all I want to do now is sleep for the next three days. I think his triglycerides are high.”

  Max shuddered. “You say things like that, and you don’t appreciate how hard I have to fight my shifter instincts.”

  Britt waved goodbye with an exaggerated bared-fangs grin.

  “That’s vampire trollface, is what that is,” Max muttered, then glanced doubtfully around my trashed house. “Maybe I should help you straighten this place up before we go? I’m no Mr. Clean, but I could shift to cat-mode and lick some of the dishes—”

  “A world of no. I got this.” I snapped my fingers and recited a spell I’d been getting better at lately:

  Mop the floor, without my hands.

  Clear this room of every smudge.

  Wash the dishes, scrub the pans,

  Life’s too short to be a drudge.

  Max’s eyes widened as, one by one, the nasty plates in the sink obligingly lifted themselves into the air to be cleaned by a hovering, soapy sponge. A broomstick swept crumbs off the floor on its own, while a hot, wet rag erased muddy shoeprints and shone the tile to a sparkle.

  “Man, sometimes I wish I had your magical gifts,” Max said.

  I shrugged. “Sometimes I wish I had yours.”

  I felt a burst of smug relief when Java Kitty’s lot turned out to be empty except for a black Tesla.

  “VIP parking, woot woot,” Trixie announced in her cool, polished voice, and dove into the spot next to the Tesla.

  Inside there was no coffee line. Weirder still, there appeared to be no one working the cash register or taking orders. Max and I exchanged looks of confusion.

  “Welcome, friends.” A robotic voice piped up through the wall speakers. “What are we drinking today?”

  I froze, and Max looked ready to bolt. This was too creepy. I had enough trouble dealing with Trixie, and she at least had a soul.

  “Just a moment, hang on!” A warm but melancholy baritone called from the back kitchen. Elton popped out, wearing a white apron with the Java Kitty pink cat logo over his street clothes. “Please, allow me to serve you personally . . . white mochas, on the house?”

  “Yes, yes, yes!” Max banged her fist on the counter with embarrassing fervor.

  “Nothing for me, thanks.” I folded my arms across my chest. “But I wanted to ask you a couple of questions about the store if you don’t mind?”

  “Not at all.” Elton smiled. “I love to talk shop.”

  It was a decent pun, but I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of a groan, so I just nodded.

  “Elton?” Max’s face looked hopeful. “If you still wanted to make two mochas, I’d totally drink hers.”

  With a wink, Elton set each of Max’s cups in front of a sleek-looking steel coffee machine and pushed a few buttons. Beep boop.

  “So, couldn’t get anyone to work the counter on Thanksgiving, huh?” I asked Elton smugly, once Max had walked out beaming, with her two free mochas. She’d decided to jog home and pick up her car from my place tomorrow.

  “Oh I’m sure I could have,” he said with a sad smile. “But I had to fire everyone yesterday.”

  “What?”

  “The board said it didn’t make sense for us to be paying workers now that the Automagick machines are fully up and running.”

  “Automagick?” The word stopped me. “Is that, erm, a brand name?”

  “I guess so. That’s what our investor’s representatives call them in their emails.”

  Of course. All this time I’d been picturing some Grey witch in a business suit stopping by on the daily, but even that wouldn’t explain the constant stench of magic pouring out of Java Kitty. No, the machines here were running Grey magic themselves, all the time now. Perhaps at this point they did have primitive spirits inside them, animated by the continual flow of Grey magic. Which made sense. After all, machines tended to be in the realm of Grey magic. If not Black magic.

  It was a little funny, now that I thought about it, that Trixie ran on Green magic.

  “As you can see, these new smart machines are game changers,” Elton went on in his melancholy voice. “They handle everything from greeting customers, to making drinks, and taking money. Your coffee-buying experience runs smoothly every time, reducing anxiety.”

  “Yes, but it also reduces jobs,” I pointed out. “And spontaneity. And human connection.” Sure, I felt like a hypocrite, since I’d just cleaned my kitchen with magic instead of elbow grease. But this? Was a bridge too far.

  Elton’s thin shoulders slumped. “Yes, you’re right. I don’t know what to do. The community may overall be worse off because of me and my company. But the money I get paid is off the hook.”

  “Elton? Sorry if this is too personal.” I didn’t know how to say this. “But none of your, um, success seems to be making you very happy.”

  “I can’t even remember happiness.” He wiped away a tear. “It’s the strangest thing. I was all fired up when I got here this summer. Now I’m achieving all my dreams, and yet . . . my world is so . . . so . . . ”

  “Grey?” I offered, holding my knuckle under my nose to keep out the stink of burning grass.

  To my surprise Elton looked like a thunderclap had just struck him. “Yes!” he cried. “It’s so grey here. Every damn day is cloudy. Blue Moon Bay seemed like a paradise in August. But now, it’s a grey hellhole.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Dude, you have a raging case of SAD.”

  “SAD?”

  “Seasonal Affective Disorder. It hits a lot of people in the Pacific Northwest. We don’t get much sunshine in the winter, and some people can’t handle it.”

  “What . . . ” He sniffed, then sobbed. “What do those people do? Kill themselves?”

  “No! Sun lamps can help, I hear. Vitamin D can help, and exercise, or antidepressants. Or.” I leaned in. “They go back to the sunny lands they came from. Like, say, California.”

  At the mention of his home state, Elton wept openly. “I have to go. I have to leave this beautiful, cloud-cursed place forever.”

  He did? I blinked. Was it really that easy all along to destroy my competition?

  “Well, you do what you have to for your health.” I patted his back.

  Why hadn’t I had this nice little talk with him weeks ago? Answer: because I was too tired—and too deep in denial about my problems.

  “Money or no money, this place is a failure for me.” Elton tore off his apron and tossed it on the floor. “I need to hop on the first flight back to California and get some sunshine, stat. Once I’m over this SAD thing, the idea for my next company will come to me. Or I’ll run for president.”

  “Ooh, I’m getting chills.” A lifetime of responding to dumb stuff men said with smiles and encouragement had made me very convincing. But then again I really was getting chills. Was Java Kitty about to run out of lives? “Wait a sec.” Something occurred to me. “If you leave, won’t the machines just keep running without you?”

  “Good catch.” He pressed his thumbprint to a panel in the wall. It opened to reveal a digital power grid. “To address liability concerns, I’ll turn off the power to the machines before I go. If the investors want to turn it back on and run the place without me, that’s up to them. After they negotiate a buyout price.”

  “Right.” I barely understood what he’d just said, but it didn’t matter.

  Because I knew what it meant when Elton, with newfound vigor, slid his finger across every glowing green digital switch. Within ten seconds, the hum in the café went dead silent. The whole place seemed to shrivel a bit, as if the walls themselves had grown sags and wrinkles.

  Most importantly, the smell of Grey magic was gone.

  I breathed a sigh.

  “Hey, I have an idea.” A nostalgic grin spread across Elton’s lean face. “Since I have a plane to catch, I can
’t take much with me. You want to help raid the supply room?”

  “Raid?” Like a pirate? “You mean steal stuff from Java Kitty?”

  “It’s a time-honored tradition where I come from. In Silicon Valley, whenever a dodgy start-up fails, the founders take home valuable stuff from the office, and blame the general chaos if they’re confronted. You want anything? Bags of coffee beans? That young guy Kade was in charge of ordering beans for us, and he knew his stuff. It’s all top-shelf.” He did a chef-kiss.

  I hesitated. As appealing as that sounded, “Doesn’t your investor take inventory?”

  “Nah. They’ve never been on-site.”

  “Who is your investor?” I asked after Elton had helped me load twenty jumbo bags of coffee beans into the back of my car. Along with a box of designer honey spoons, purple ceramic individual teapots, packs of plain white napkins, and tons of other cool loot.

  “Blue Moon Bay Venture Partners,” Elton answered.

  “Oh. I’ve never heard of them.” Not that I’d heard of any VC firms. That kind of stuff simply wasn’t on my radar. But I made a mental note to look them up so I could be aware of any other Grey magic “ventures” they had going on around town.

  Hopefully, I could encourage the others to shut down peacefully as well. Blue Moon Bay wasn’t an Automagick kind of town, and I didn’t want that to change.

  Not on my watch.

  Elton gave me a jaunty wave, hopped into his Tesla, and peeled out without looking back.

  It was getting dark, and I was legit tired after a long day.

  I turned on the ignition. “Let’s go home, Trixie.”

  “Ooh, looks like you scored some swag.” Trixie must have noticed all the stuff in the trunk and backseat. “Suh-weet, what’s the occasion?”

  “Oh, no big thing, just raided my former competition, like you do.” I couldn’t help but crow a little. It was the least Goody Two-shoes thing I’d ever done. Max and Britt would be so proud. And I’d outsmarted the venture capitalists who almost shut down our bakery. “That reminds me, I wanted to research something.”

  Whipping out my phone, I plugged “Blue Moon Bay Venture Partners” into a search engine. There were very few sites mentioning them, not even a full page. I clicked on the first link.