“According to Wanda, the witch-cat doctor, many cats are very old souls. The ones that were witches in a past life will always pair up with another witch. You may have noticed that Luna probably became very happy when you discovered that you’re a witch. She gets to be the messenger and deliver your mail from other witches. She can help you in other ways, too, like letting you know where to find something that you’ve lost, or figure out something you don’t understand. Some witches have said that their cats can use their own magic. I can’t say that I’ve ever seen it personally, but I have no reason to doubt that certain witch-cats have that ability. As a matter of fact, when I was seventeen, a cat befriended me and she led me to a very old book of magic spells that was hidden in an attic of a church.”
“Huh—” I thought about how Luna had transformed from demon cat to semi-affectionate feline. “I guess that’s the reason for Luna’s personality makeover ever since this all started. Are the witch-cats always black cats?”
“Always. I have never heard of any other type of cat belonging to a witch. Sorry, the stereotype is right on that at least.”
“Oh, speaking of pets reminds me that I wanted to talk to you about something. You mentioned before about your idea for a Paranormal Pet Shop. I am really interested in that! Would you mind showing me what you’ve been concocting around here?”
“Are you sure, Leigh? Sometimes even I get a little shocked to see some of those critters.”
I nodded my head that I was ready. Luna climbed up into my arms, apparently she was also cautiously ready to see what sorts of surprises Gertie had in store for us.
Chapter Twenty
The Paranormal Pet Shop
Gertie walked us through the rest of her huge Antebellum home, which of course was decorated as wildly as the parlor. Now I knew why Gertie surrounded herself with such bright colors for things both cute and beautiful. Actually, she didn’t surround herself in it, she marinated herself in happiness and sunshine. I made up my mind then that I would follow her lead, but only enough to brighten my day now and again.
She took me to what had once been an entire separate wing of the mansion. I guessed that the master of the entire plantation had shared his house with a close relative’s family. This part of the house had not been completely decorated yet. Rooms were recently painted in solid, bright colors, but the walls were bare. Apparently, Gertie had not yet collected enough cute, tacky, and downright gaudy, yet effeminate items to festoon the walls, doors, ceilings, and banisters.
“Welcome to my Paranormal Pet Shop!”
“Where? I was expecting stacked cages and pens. I thought it would be really noisy and a little smelly, just like an ordinary pet shop.”
“Well, I don’t believe in cages or pens. I just can’t imprison any helpless creature. This is the main entrance room. I’m planning on painting murals on the walls of every type of magic animal that I’ve created. I am going to set up a really nice area where customers can have tea or coffee. Maybe cookies or something, but I’m not sure about leaving food out where the animals could get ahold of it.”
We followed Gertie through a large door that opened to a sunny room with tall ceilings. The walls were painted a vivid yellow. There were double glass doors blocked wide open and I could see Gertie’s wildflower yard waving in the breeze. “Here, take a look at this!” Gertie proudly exclaimed.
I looked around and didn’t see anything at first. Just more of Gertie’s big plush toys. I almost fainted when I saw they were alive. They were small fuzzy horses or horse like. There were six altogether. They stood about four feet tall, except for one that was only half the size of the others. Each had a different color of fur. They were cotton candy pink, light blue, lime-green, bright orange, purple, and the little one was bright red and had a white heart shape on its side. For a few seconds I worried that I had repeated my Denver incident by ingesting more magic brownies.
“Oh. My. God. Esmeralda was right about them. My Tiny Ponies brought to life. I see two unicorns, one with wings. It is just blowing my mind, Gertie.”
“And to think that just a few weeks ago these were all abandoned Pit Bulls. I think they were once used for illegal dog fighting. They were just so aggressive and were hurting each other. Now look at them. Plus, they can come in here or go out and wander around the yard.”
“What happened with the little one?”
“Oh, sorry. That happened to be a raccoon that mistakenly wandered into the barn where I had the dogs. I never saw him in there until he changed into that cute little thing. Just a happy accident. Now somewhere on the property are the ones that Esmeralda sent down here. I’m sure we’ll come across them.”
“Aren’t you afraid that the one with wings will fly away?”
“No, I’m pretty sure they are more decorative than anything. He’ll flutter them sometimes, but he can’t get more than two feet off the ground and comes right back down again.”
We left the fluffy little ponies to themselves and we went on to another room. This room was painted a tropical green that wasn’t too dark for Gertie’s palette of colors. Gertie walked timidly ahead of Luna and me. She whispered now, “There, in the corner. You see him?”
I looked at a small, nearly black thing in the corner. It had shiny skin that was very bumpy. It sort of looked like a baby alligator, not quite three feet long. It was no alligator. Its head wasn’t as long, it was more like a horse head than flat and long like an alligator. Its tail was longer and thinner than an alligator’s. Then I looked at the legs. I blinked hard to count the legs. It had six legs. For the love of chocolate, I swear it had six legs.
“What the hell is it?”
“A dragon. He is pretty touchy.” Gertie crouched down and held her hand out. “Come here. Come on, sweetie. We won’t hurt you.”
Slowly the creature crept out of the shadowy corner and came towards us. I could see that it had a frilly fin running along the top of its back all the way to the tip of its tail. It was actually sort of cute, even though I am not much of a judge on dragons. Gertie slowly took a little dog treat from the front pocket of her dress and held it in her open palm.
Luna had decided that she had enough. She dug her claws deep into the skin of my forearm and hissed at the little dragon. I screeched when her claws pierced my skin. The dragon suddenly stood up on its back legs and held out the middle legs, which unfolded to reveal large shiny dragon wings. It opened its mouth and started making belching sounds. I was quite amused by the little dragon burping at us. I laughed and looked at Gertie.
“Whew! For a second there, I thought it was going to shoot out a blast of fi—”
Then it did blast out fire. A blue flame shot out from its mouth. The tip of the flame was only about a foot short of me. I screamed, and once I realized we hadn’t been cremated, I ran out of the room. Gertie walked out and apologized profusely. I didn’t know what to say.
“What the hell will you do with that thing? There is no way you could sell it as some sort of pet. You will get sued for sure. Once it goes home with a new family, it’ll turn the family dog into a plate of barbeque, and then melt the paint off the family car.”
“Oh! I forgot to tell you one important detail! The Paranormal Pet Shop is only for witches and other supernaturals. I would never send any of these creatures out into society. I can just imagine how they would be taken advantage of. You know, carnival sideshows, circus acts, science experiments, and those God-awful reality TV shows. At least witches will have an understanding of all this. And they will only take a creature they are comfortable with.”
“We should send that dragon to those bitches at the union!”
“Maybe Esmeralda would like it?” Gertie had us both laughing then.
After the frightening experience with the dragon, Gertie introduced me to all sorts of interesting creatures. There were flying monkeys, perfect for the wicked witch in your life. A pair of Sasquatches lounging in the yard. A griffon which was unexpectedly boring since it w
as asleep the whole time. Just like when you go to the zoo and all the really cool animals are passed out cold and out of sight.
“You know, Gertie, let’s say Esmeralda’s plan works out and the supernaturals of the world are safe from the union’s plans for world domination, or extinction for that matter, then I think all of them would be happy to visit you and find just the right pet. I would probably hold off on creating any new ones right now. Unless of course you don’t have a choice, like with those poor Pit Bulls.”
“I guess you’re right.” Gertie nodded. “Why don’t we get Luna comfortable, and then we’ll zap ourselves into town and get a bite to eat. It’s already getting late in the day.”
I agreed with her suggestion. I figured I had seen more than enough to make me feel overwhelmed. I needed to keep in touch with reality.
Chapter Twenty One
A Mystery on Girl’s Night Out
Gertie and I appeared in Pirate Alley. It’s nothing more than a narrow lane that runs alongside the Saint Louis Cathedral, a historic New Orleans landmark. Gertie said she preferred to poof there since there was less chance of being noticed or getting run over. It was just around sundown when we arrived. The heat and humidity was oppressing, but I insisted we walk to where we were going. I immediately fell in love with the unique mix of architecture, the musicians, and street vendors around Jackson Square. And the smells of the wonderful food had my mouth watering.
“Gertie, you have to tell me everything you’ve found out here in the French Quarter. It’s incredible. I don’t know if it’s just because the Fourth of July weekend is still carrying on or what. It just seems like everyone is enjoying it as much as I am. I have to pick up a book or two about the area, hopefully tonight if there are any shops open.”
“Oh, there is almost always something open. I love it here, too! As a matter of fact, I bet that little souvenir shop will have some travel guides or local histories.” Gertie quickly changed directions towards a small shop with an Italian flag hanging out front and an Italian name over the door. What happened next was hilarious, but it told volumes of how much Gertie needed to learn about modern slang. She walked up to the little service counter and greeted a very friendly looking and very heavy set middle aged man.
Gertie gave the man a thumbs up and then she said it. “Nice rack!”
“Excuse me, young lady?”
“Nice rack!”
“Whatever. I don’t even know why I still work here, putting up with drunken tourists like you all goddamned day. I have a medical problem you know. It’s not easy having moobs. You certainly don’t help.”
“Moobs?”
“What the hell do you want anyway?”
“Why are you so rude? I said nice rack. Happy Fourth of July!”
“You need help, little lady.”
“No, I don’t think so. Are you offering to help me?” Gertie looked around to see why the man had asked her that.
I had to jump in and save her. I gently tugged at Gertie and led her back out to the sidewalk. “Gertie, why did you say nice rack to that man? Was it because of his moobs?”
“At Kelly’s parents’ party, her dad’s brother came up to me. He made a fist and stuck his thumb up. Then he said ‘nice rack’. His wife must have been really drunk and swatting at some mosquitoes, she missed them clean and accidentally popped Kelly’s uncle right in the face. She knocked the dentures right out of his mouth. Later, I asked him what ‘nice rack’ and the hand gesture meant, he said it was an Italian greeting for the Fourth of July. Since this little shop here had an obviously Italian name, I thought I should use that greeting. Why? What’s the big deal?”
“Oh! That was Uncle Carmine. Yeah, avoid him.”
“Why?”
“For one, he’s a dirty, old, foul-mouthed, ass-grabber. For two, when he said ‘nice rack’, he was referring to your boobs. A nice rack means a nice set of boobs to the shallow cavemen we modern women still deal with.”
“That old codger! And liar! I bet his wife caught him with that sucker punch on purpose!”
“You can bet on it,” I said.
“And what the heck are moobs anyway?”
“Man boobs. Guys with a big, flabby chest. They have moobs. Not a very polite thing to point out about a man, at least to his face. Only do that if he is being a real dick.”
“A real dick?”
“Oh, Gertie,” I said in an obviously discouraged, yet sympathetic voice. “We have a long way to go with modern slang.” I didn’t even want to start with the discourse on the use of the word dick.
Gertie took us out to the edge of the French Quarter proper to go to a little restaurant that she promised would be authentic, home-cooked style New Orleans food. Along the way, we found another little shop where I picked up two books about New Orleans and the neighborhoods. This time we avoided any embarrassing comments about boobs. We reached a quite old, three story, red brick building on the very busy Poydras Street. I loved the fact that, like so many places I had seen on our walk, it had a second story balcony with a slightly ornate iron railing.
This was the kind of place my dad would refer to as a greasy spoon, meaning no offense to the food, of course. He just meant an eatery with no frills, get down to business meals. A white sign with red letters hung above the sidewalk, Mother’s. Well, I suppose you almost have to get home-cooked style food there, it is Mother’s after all.
Gertie, the lover of all animals, the person I most likely assumed would be a vegetarian, apparently had less regard for the lives of lowly sea creatures. “The best thing here is the seafood gumbo. I absolutely love it. It is served with rice. I think I could eat it every day.”
“We’re friends, right, Gertie?”
“Of course! The best of friends!”
“Okay, since you are the absolute biggest animal lover I have ever met, I figured you would be a vegetarian. Do you eat any sort of meat products, or do you draw the line anywhere?”
“The only meat I eat are eggs, dairy, and seafood. I figure chickens that lay unfertilized eggs are giving those to us so we won’t eat them. Cows are sharing their milk because they just love us and want us to be healthy. And seafood—well, I had to pick some sort of meat. When you think about clams, shrimp, and those critters, they seem to be pretty unaware of whether they are going to get eaten or not. What about you? Back in the old days most Jewish families only ate certain foods. Do you follow that, too?”
“No, my family never really did, except in the presence of my grandmother. Actually, I believe that in America less than twenty percent of Jewish families follow kosher dietary restrictions. I don’t think I could live without some things like shrimp!”
I followed Gertie’s advice and had the seafood gumbo. She was right, it was incredible. I looked at the menu and I knew I would be returning to that place many more times. We talked about more things over gumbo. She was rather interested in what I had to say about Hunter, and she hinted at her curiosity about him, especially his physical attributes and what we did together. I skirted around that and figured out a better idea. I made a mental note that Gertie needed some good girl talk the next time we could both get together with Kelly and Lindsey. That way it wouldn’t just be about Hunter and me, but men in general.
We had a great time. We joked and laughed about her use of the phrase that Kelly’s uncle, Carmine, had taught her. I explained the common definitions and occasions for the use of the word dick. I also explained the use of the name Johnson as a noun when it is used as one more synonym for a very unique male part. Again we had a good laugh at the possibilities of why and how Randy had gotten the nickname Randy Johnson. We were still carrying on with our laughter when we left the restaurant.
I happened to look across to the opposite corner of the street. I recognized someone and I froze in my tracks. I whispered, “Gertie! Look. It’s one of the witches from the union board. The Creole woman named Marie. And she’s talking to someone, but I can’t see who it is. It’s a woman.
” Marie seemed a little nervous as she frequently turned her head to check out her surroundings. The other woman was obscured by a couple of sign posts. I only got a glimpse of a woman in black, with long red hair, and big sunglasses. Sunglasses? Really? At this time? She is trying to disguise herself. Who could that be? No, it couldn’t be Esmeralda, could it?
Just as I had frozen in place, so did Gertie. She looked at the two women. “That’s Marie for sure. Oh my God. She’s talking to Esmeralda!”
“Esmeralda? Esmeralda? That dirty double crossing witch! Why would she tell us that she wants to take down the witches on the board and then meet with one of them? This is bullshit. I hate being lied to.”
“Should we go over there and just say hi?”
“No. I think we ought to stay out of sight and follow them. Maybe we can figure out what they are up to. Can’t you read their minds or something?”
“No. Only the old witches, the original witches can do that stuff. You and I are new witches. In fact, to the old timers we’re almost considered half witches or less. We still age normally, unless we are turned into an ice sculpture for a century, and we are pretty much limited to whatever specialty that we somehow came in contact with. Those witches are all made witches. I have no idea what that means, except that they refer to themselves as made witches.”
“Made?” I thought about it. Where did I hear that word used in that context? “Oh, Gertie! I get it now. Made, like those old style mafia guys that become initiated into the core of those crime families. They get made. They become made men. They are like the top of the organization. I saw it in a movie once or twice.”
“I wonder what they are talking about. Marie is a pretty powerful witch, but she is the nicest of the ones on the board. She is pretty famous, too. You probably heard of her, Marie Laveau, the voodoo witch of New Orleans.”
“Really? The name does sound familiar, but I can’t say I know anything about her.” I looked up her name in one of the guide books I had bought. After I read all about the story of the most famous and powerful voodoo practitioners of New Orleans, I remembered hearing about her before. “That’s Marie Laveau? It can’t be, it says in this book that she died in 1881. They even have a picture of her crypt with her name on it. I guess a lot of people go there to get some sort of power from her.” I showed Gertie my guidebook, which was opened to the page of Marie Laveau.
Serious Leigh (Literal Leigh Romance Diaries Book 2) Page 12