Wicked by Any Other Name

by Linda Wisdom

  Stasi stepped in his direction, her hand up, palm out. “Out of here now!” A burst of power sent the gargoyle tumbling backward through the filmy curtains that separated the shop from the stockroom.

  “Fine! All you had to do was ask me to leave!” he shouted back. “Ow!”

  Stasi blew on her finger as if it was a smoking gun barrel then turned back to Blair.

  “I did nothing she didn’t deserve.” She swept her hand in front of her. “If I had done what I truly wanted to, the Witches’ Council would have called me in.”

  “Only if they thought you did something…” The truth hit her like a huge rusty cauldron. “You didn’t. You did! Stasi! You made sure Carrie’s husband wouldn’t return to her!”

  Stasi refused to look at her friend as she continued to strip plastic coverings off the newly arrived clothing. “Carrie thinks every man she meets is perfect for her and will love her until the end of time. Except once she snares her prey, she treats him like something she’d scrape off her shoe. Perhaps she needs to learn that not every man will bow to her vicious behavior.”

  Blair advanced on her with the subtlety of a Sherman tank. “I don’t even want to think how many years this could add to your banishment if they find out. For someone who’s basically flown under the radar for decades, this has got to be the absolute craziest thing you’ve ever done.” She stepped forward, still trying to wrap her mind around the idea of her gentle friend doing something that… well… something that she’d do!

  Stasi was the best of the best among their class at the Witches’ Academy. She had embraced academic life, loved her classes and all their teachers, including old Grizelda, who smelled like musty clothing and actually cackled. Sweet-natured Stasi had stood strong with her classmates when she could easily have remained at the academy and realized her full potential, possibly even attaining status on the Witches’ Council. It had meant so much to the others and had even inspired guilt in some, because they all knew Stasi was destined to be great among their community. Instead, Stasi had refused to betray her sister witches all those years ago and was banished to the outside world with the rest of them. So far, not one of the witches had behaved well enough to end their banishment. During the past centuries they had more or less adapted to the mortal world and many enjoyed the lives they now had.

  “That sachet didn’t inspire romance, did it? You slipped a rejection spell in it, didn’t you?” Blair advanced on Stasi, who now had no place to retreat. “You made sure Carrie’s husband wouldn’t return to her.”

  “She didn’t want him anyway.” Stasi hated that her voice sounded suspiciously like a whine. “She just didn’t want anyone else to have him. She was the one who drove him away. I just made it permanent.” She set her chin in a determined manner.

  “You can’t do that! You believe in true love. If there wasn’t Cupid, there would be you.”

  Stasi heard the pain in her friend’s voice, but she refused to succumb to it. Blair knew what Carrie was like.

  “She deserved what she got, and Kevin is safe from her manipulations,” she said finally.

  “And if the Wizards’ Court figures this out, you will be in so much trouble it will never end. As it is, they make Witches’ Court look like a playground!”

  “Then it’s my trouble, and no one else’s.” Stasi turned her back on Blair.

  “It’s on your head then.” Blair threw up her hands and stalked out of the boutique.

  “Nice thong, Blair!” Horace shouted after her from his favorite vantage point on the floor. “Love the naughty schoolgirl look you’ve got going there.”

  ***

  Trev revved the engine and listened to the discreet growl emitted by his midnight blue Jaguar XK convertible. He had always admired the sound of a quality machine, and his Jag offered that up big-time. The winding mountain road was a breeze for the low-slung vehicle as he drove upward to a nearby resort where he’d spend the night before returning to Los Angeles. He only wished the weather was warmer so he could have the top down.

  For now his mind was centered on Anastasia “Stasi” Romanov. He rarely dealt with witches. All his business associates were wizards, sorcerers, and sorceresses. To be frank, he considered witches to be rather déclassé, although he had the good sense never to say that aloud. He had heard that Eurydice, head of the Witches’ Council, was a major force to be reckoned with if she felt any of the witches under her protection were threatened.

  He’d walked into the shop in the tiny mountain town expecting to meet a timid witch who would be properly intimidated by his wizard status and immediately agree to anything Carrie wanted, so that the matter wouldn’t go to court and he could usher his newest client out with a huge sigh of relief.

  Instead, he found a lovely woman with snapping golden brown eyes—and a pervert of a gargoyle, who he could see was protective of the young witch. For a moment he’d even been tempted to ask her to meet him for dinner at the resort’s dining room, but after the way she looked at him as if he was the vilest creature on earth, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she would have added a little something disagreeable to his meal.

  And what was with the red hearts dancing over her head like some insane Valentine TV commercial? He made a mental note to ask Mae to research it. He figured it had something to do with the romantic nature of the boutique, but the sight was more than a little disconcerting.

  He pressed a button on his steering wheel. “Office.”

  “Mr. Barnes’ office.” Mae answered on the first ring.

  “Ms. Romanov has no counsel,” Trev said.

  “How nice that you arrived safely, Trevor,” Mae smoothly overrode his comment. “We’re doing fine here, thank you for asking. Nothing important has happened since you left, although your father did stop by hoping you could have lunch with him.”

  He mentally uttered a few choice words. After all these years he should know better. Mae stood on ceremony and any time he forgot that, she was quick to remind him. But he had a small arsenal up his sleeve.

  “I hope you enjoyed lunch with Father.” He grinned. Mae hadn’t said a word, but he easily sensed she hadn’t expected that. There was no doubt in his mind that Mae and his father had been having an extremely discreet affair for the past few decades. The idea of his prim and proper assistant and pompous sire getting hot and heavy between the sheets was a vision he preferred to be burned out of his brain.

  He noticed the sign for the resort where he had a reservation for the night and made a quick turn. “Would you do me a favor and have someone do a little research on something that might have to do with witches?”

  “Does this have to do with the Anderson/Romanov case?”

  “Not directly, but since Anderson is pretty much suing for alienation of affection, it might be related. See if there’s a reason why a witch would have glittery red hearts dancing over her head. And I’d like Anastasia Romanov’s history.”

  The silence on the other side of the line was charged. “Did you say glittery red hearts over her head?” Mae said finally in a voice that didn’t sound like her normal self-contained self.

  “Yes, why?”

  “No reason. You’ll be in tomorrow?”

  “Not until the afternoon, since I’m staying up here tonight,”

  “Fine.” Mae disconnected before Trev could say anything else.

  And if he had thought about it he would have sworn there was a very un-Mae-like hint of mirth in her voice.

  Chapter 3

  “Don’t forget we have a town meeting tonight,” Blair reminded Stasi as they started fixing dinner. Her earlier snit with Stasi was over. She could never remain angry at her best friend for long, even if she privately thought Stasi had lost her mind for what she’d done to Carrie Anderson. But she was also impressed with her friend for coming up with such an innovative way of dealing with the overbearing woman.
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  “I thought the Haunted Moonstone Lake festivities were already agreed upon. It’s almost the end of September and there’s no time to start setting up something new.” Stasi added a dusting of paprika to the scalloped potatoes she had pulled from the oven. “I swear, every year, they discuss the matter to death then go on and do the same thing they’ve done in the past. Orange flickering bulbs will be set in the streetlamps so they’ll look like flames, Arnie will portray Old Miner Caleb roaming the town looking for the fiend who stole his gold.” She spooned the potatoes on to their plates next to the pork chops Blair had cooked up. “And Miss Priscilla, our ghostly schoolteacher, will tell stories at the old schoolhouse on the edge of town.”

  “And we’ll all wear costumes.” Blair wrinkled her nose. “At least they agreed we all don’t have to wear period clothing the way we have in the past. Although, I bet Agnes Pierce will bring it up again tonight.”

  Stasi nodded. “From the way she acts you’d think that Agnes was Moonstone Lake’s mayor, instead of her husband.” She unconsciously rubbed her butt. Floyd Pierce was well known for his habit of sneaking in a discreet pinch to the posterior. He left Stasi alone after he received a shock equivalent to sticking his finger in a light socket when he pinched her butt at last summer’s Fourth of July picnic. She smiled at the memory of the heavyset man falling into a mud puddle that just happened to be nearby. Oh yes, that was a fun day.

  “Even if I do choose to wear a period costume for a day, I am not wearing a corset,” Blair declared. “Those things hurt. It took years for the dents to go away after they finally weren’t necessary anymore.”

  “I hated the constriction, but I loved how feminine we looked.” Stasi looked down at her size Bs and recalled how very well uplifted they had been when she wore a body cinching corset. She just loved lingerie—it was an art form for her.

  “Just as long as Agnes doesn’t suggest that we dress up as the Wicked Witch of the West and Glinda, the good witch.” Blair playfully stuck her finger in her mouth, miming a gagging motion.

  Witches and the various other preternatural creatures that inhabited the world had slowly become known among the human population, but they still pretty much kept to themselves. There were human factions that didn’t like the idea of supernatural beings living among them, while others embraced them. Stasi and Blair had lived off and on in Moonstone Lake since the late 1840s, when the community sprang up almost overnight as a mining camp. At first they’d hidden their identities by going away for a while and then returning in the guise of a daughter, niece, or granddaughter. Many of the longtime residents had known them from childhood. Once they had found out exactly what Stasi and Blair were, they were still inclined to accept them—especially since the two witches did what they could to protect the small mountain town from developers who wanted to raze the area and turn it into just another resort. It helped that Stasi and Blair didn’t overtly display their powers and made sure their monthly trips to the lake at full moon went unobserved. They also discouraged anyone from seeking spells from them. Stasi might add a hint of a love charm to the sachets she tucked into her customer’s bags, and Blair enjoyed her skill with revenge spells, but she kept everything low-key; nothing more dangerous than a nasty itch or a bad smell or an ingeniously designed run of allergic reactions or minor pratfalls.

  They loved their town and their lives, and even if men under the age of fifty weren’t too plentiful—except for tourists—that was fine with the witches, since they weren’t looking for permanent entanglements anyway. If they had ever cared to be honest about their actual ages, they were far older than Abel Ransome, spry at ninety-four, even with eyeglasses thicker than the bottom of old-fashioned Coke bottles.

  The two sat down at the table with their plates while Bogie floated upside down underneath with his mouth open in hopes something might drop his way.

  “Too bad someone won’t come up with an idea other than haunted Moonstone Lake,” Stasi said.

  “The town is a 160-year-old mining town, originally famous for its brothel and gambling hall. What do you think?” Blair nibbled on her dinner. “And Agnes so loves playing the grande dame with her library talks, afternoon teas—by reservation only, of course—and the midnight ghost walk and Halloween Dance.”

  Stasi sighed. “Maybe she’ll come up with something new this year.”

  “We can wish.”

  ***

  Stasi tugged her wool cap down over her ears against the early evening chill as she hurried down the sidewalk.

  “I don’t know why Blair couldn’t have waited five minutes for me,” she muttered, hurrying down the sidewalk in the direction of the town hall.

  With her head down, she didn’t see the large obstacle until it was too late.

  “Oof!” She looked up and stared into Trev’s blue eyes and damning red hearts over his head. He instinctively gripped her arms so she wouldn’t fall, but she quickly stepped back, forcing him to drop his hands.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Fine.” She was positive she’d just swallowed a load of bubbles.

  “Look, I’m not trying to make life difficult for you,” he began.

  “You are and that’s fine. It’s your job.” She tried not to get swallowed up in those deep blue eyes, which were looking at her with an expression she couldn’t identify. “Just as my being the defendant means I’m not going to make it easy for you.”

  Perfect. A few residents who were also hurrying to the town meeting had slowed down and were eying them curiously. Stasi hoped she could blame her blushes on the cold night air instead of Trev’s close proximity.

  “I—uh—I have to go,” she muttered, yet she didn’t move an inch.

  He cocked an eyebrow, not caring that they were the center of attention. “Would you have time for a cup of coffee? I was just going to get some,” he asked.

  Stasi was suddenly conscious of the ends of her hair sticking out every which way from under the knit cap she’d jammed on her head, and her nose was probably a lovely shade of red from the cold. Not to mention her cheeks were burning. “Town meeting. Very important we all be there on time,” she added, deliberately raising her voice so their small audience would get the message. Luckily, they did and continued on down the street. She pushed past him, aware down to her toes of his solid build, the breadth of his shoulders, the intent expression on his handsome face.

  Trev wanted to persuade her to stay, but he could see this wasn’t the time. She looked so damn cute in that dark pink knit cap with tendrils of hair drifting in the cold air, her face glowing. He walked to his car, but not without a quick backwards glance at Stasi that showed she looked just as good going as she did coming. She was practically running toward the large building at the end of the street, with those shimmering red hearts dancing above her head.

  Wizards and witches don’t mix.

  “Old wives’ tale,” he muttered to himself. “Especially when the witch is cute, and charming even when she sees me as the enemy, and there’s something more than magickal about her. I’m definitely going to have to find out more, and without Mae’s help or interference.”

  “Good going, Stasi,” she mumbled to herself as she climbed the steps to the town hall. “You could at least have sounded more coherent. He must think you’re an idiot.” No, he doesn’t. He was very interested in you. Just like you’re interested in him. Wizard or not, the man is hot stuff! Go for it! She resisted the urge to clap her hands over her ears. It wouldn’t have helped, since the voice was inside her head.

  ***

  “And how wonderful that Halloween falls on Saturday this year, so that we can make our annual dance even more spectacular!” Agnes Pierce, a short woman in her sixties who resembled a plump partridge in a fuchsia wool suit with black piping, stood at the podium while her husband, the honorable mayor, snoozed—and snored—in a chair in the rear. “The memb
ers of the decorations committee have been busy little bees coming up with new ideas, and the festival committee has thought up a wonderful legend for this year. It’s a truly frightening story about the death of a miner who now haunts the town looking for his murderer. I believe Wilson Carruthers will be playing the part of the dead miner.” She indicated a white-haired man with a bushy beard who stood up and dipped his head. “Marva, would you like to come up and tell us the committee’s ideas?” She looked out at the small group scattered throughout the room that made up the town hall/community center.

  Stasi had always privately viewed the red velvet curtains on the stage as more than a tad tacky, and right now they clashed terribly with Agnes’s suit. She would have loved to coax the plump woman into both a suitable foundation garment and an outfit that wasn’t straight out of the 1960s. At the moment all she needed was a pillbox hat to finish the look.

  The large two-story building was touted as the town’s historic Gold Rush saloon and brothel. Only Stasi and Blair remembered the origins of the structure’s notorious history—a high-flying madam named Grubstake Lil who held a double-barrel shotgun in one hand, had her other palm out for the money, and made sure her bartenders were serving only watered-down whiskey. Gambling was the second favorite pastime, and there were no second chances for a cheater. Merely a spot with a view on Boot Hill. No miner in his right mind went up against the ironed-willed woman or he risked losing his favorite body part. It was no surprise that Lil died a very wealthy woman.

  “Floyd’s the lucky one,” Blair muttered, as she and Stasi shifted in their chairs, growing more uncomfortable with each passing moment as they listened to Agnes drone on about her plans for the upcoming holiday. Blair had snagged them two chairs in the back row. Unfortunately, the first few speakers had been more long-winded than usual. “At least Marva’s reports are generally short and sweet. Color me happy on that.”