Chapter 3
Glenda
I thought about my upcoming catering jobs as I navigated the van over the twisted roads that led over the mountains, through the wards, and into the town of Accident. Most of my work was outside of the wards, in the human world of artfully decorated cupcakes and crust-less sandwiches, but the next two jobs were inside the wards and for non-human clients with some non-human culinary tastes.
Wednesday was a birthday party for one of the gnomes. Gronk was turning two-hundred years old, and this shindig was shaping up to be a sort of gnome bar mitzva. There were roughly eighty gnomes in Accident at any given time, most of them living in the underground tunnels they’d built to the east of the town. They weren’t completely subterranean, though, and this party would thankfully be held somewhere I’d have access to electricity.
Next Saturday was the event I was most excited for. Everyone in Accident had been pitching in to help rebuild Dallas’ compound after a rampaging fire-breathing T-rex burned most of it to the ground. It was a tragedy that had brought the two warring werewolf factions together, and so far that peace seemed to be holding up. It had been Cassie’s idea to have a huge party to celebration the completion of the compound restoration, to hopefully continue the goodwill between the two werewolf packs and the town. And what better way to make werewolves happy and thinking of peace-not-war, than filling their bellies with an amazing selection of roasted and smoked meats prepared by yours truly.
It had been a long day, and I knew I’d have several hours of unloading the van and cleaning up before I could yank off my shoes and my bra, and sprawl across my bed, but I still took a left turn once I hit Main Street, knowing it would save me time in the long run if I detoured and picked up a few essential things. The gnome party wasn’t until Wednesday, but a few of their requested foods required a long marinade and pickling, as well as fermentation, and the sooner I got started on those, the better. So I drove to the edge of town and turned off the dirt fishing road that ran along Hop Mill Stream. About three miles out was a little grove and a section where the stream became a tiny pond that sparkled with light both from above and below.
I parked a respectful distance and watched where I walked, ringing a set of wind chimes and waiting at the edge of the grove. The water bubbled, and a naked woman rose from the depths, her blue-green hair fanned out behind her, her body elongated and inhumanly fluid.
“Glenda Perkins.” She smiled, her voice like rain against summer leaves. “You are here for the schallea?”
“I am.” I watched as she walked along the surface of the water, her feet becoming more solid as she stepped onto the mossy ground of the grove. “How are you doing Besellia? We missed you at the Koi festival this spring.”
She waved behind her at the water, then bent down to retrieve two bottles from behind a tree. I looked and saw two pairs of eyes staring at me from the edge of the pond.
“I gave birth in March. Twins. It was not easy, and they have kept me busy. I was sorry to miss the festival, though. Perhaps next year when they are older.” She handed me the bottles and tilted her head toward the eyes with a fond smile. “Do not have children, Glenda Perkins. They drain the life out of you.”
I laughed, knowing she was teasing. “Thanks for these. If you need anything, you know to call—or come get me.”
She patted my arm, her hand cool and wet. “We owe you much more than these two bottles of schallea. If it hadn’t been for you, Fennta would have died.”
I felt myself flush. As easy as it was for me to accept praise and gratitude for my cooking, it wasn’t so easy for me to do the same with my healing skills. Maybe because I felt it was my duty. I was a Perkins, a witch, and I was born with the responsibility to help the residents of Accident with my magical skills. There were no thanks necessary. Healing was my calling, a charge given to me at birth. Where Cassie had chafed at her duties, I’d always embraced mine. Not that I blamed Cassie. Her responsibilities were a hundred-fold what mine were, and she’d been thrust into a parental role at a young age, taking care of the six of us as well as herself when our mother had skipped town.
“I was glad to help Fennta. And if you ever need someone to watch a couple of young water sprites so you can head over to Pete’s for a drink or two, you let me know.”
She laughed. “I’ll take you up on that once they’re older. Right now, I’d be afraid they might drown you.” There was a bubbling noise from the pond, and Besellia’s head turned so fast I thought she’d get whiplash. “And now I must get back to these little minnows. Hope to see you soon, Glenda.”
I echoed the sentiment and watched as she melted back into the pond, the two sets of eyes vanishing with her. Shouldering the two heavy bottles, I took them to my car, stowed them in my trunk, and headed to the second stop of the evening.
Alberta and Shelby lived under a bridge, which was awesome for Alberta but less so for Shelby. The werewolf seemed to be adapting though—evidence of how much she truly loved the troll.
Personally I thought their tiny cottage under the bridge was adorable. It was way too small for all my kitchen gear, but as far as a living space went, it was really cute. The house reminded me of a child’s play house, only taller because although Alberta was short for a female troll, she was still six foot two inches with the muscle to match. Shelby was six inches shorter with a lean strength, but with the two of them, I’m sure the little cottage made for some tight space.
Shelby answered the door at my knock. The werewolf was still sporting a short stylish hairdo that would require daily trimming to keep in shape, and she was wearing a super cute white swing dress dotted with a print of red cherries.
“Whoa! I want that dress,” I told her.
She beamed, doing a little pirouette. “You like it? It was a gift from Alberta. She bought it at a shop on the other side of the wards.”
Shelby said this with a sort of awe that I completely understood. The modern human world wasn’t the threat for witches as it had been when my ancestor Temperance Perkins had founded the town, but it still was terrifying for many of the supernatural beings that called Accident their home. The wards kept them safe from harm, and any humans that ventured into town conveniently forgot about all the mermaids, shifters, vampires, and fae when they left. It meant everyone in Accident was free to look and be as they truly were.
For Alberta to cross the wards and purchase a dress in a human shop, she would need to use her troll glamour to appear human. It was a risk she’d taken for Shelby, but it wasn’t a huge risk. Trolls were incredibly skilled at glamour, and the only threat to her would be if she somehow lost her connection with the magic-giving earth and lost her hold on the illusion. Although that catastrophe would probably only result in people running and screaming, not shooting her or trying to drown her. Modern times were kinder to the residents of our town, but they still felt safer inside our wards.
Most werewolves didn’t believe that. They’d been raised with stories of being hunted and exterminated, of being tortured and imprisoned. Very few werewolves left the protective wards of Accident. Very few werewolves left the mountain they claimed as their territory. And of the few that did, most sweated through the whole experience, dashing back to the safety of their compound as soon as possible. I could count on one hand the number of werewolves who felt comfortable spending several days in the outside world, which was strange since they looked and seemed just like humans until they shifted into their wolf form.
“I need Alberta to do my shopping for me,” I teased. “She’s got great taste in clothing. It looks amazing on you.”
She flushed again, smoothing her hands down the front of the dress. “Thanks. Can I help you with something? Do you want to come in and have tea or coffee?”
“Actually I needed to pick up something from Alberta. Some herbs and spices she had for me?”
The troll was obviously not home. Their cottage was so tiny that I would have seen her from the doorway had she been.
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br /> “Oh my. She’s out and won’t be back until late.” Shelby turned. “I think they’re in the kitchen, though. Hang on a sec.”
I waited while she walked the ten feet to the kitchenette and looked through a box on the counter.
“Here they are!” The werewolf lifted a handful of paper bags triumphantly in her hands. “Four bags, right? Two have leafy things, and the other two have…seeds?”
I chuckled. “Yes, seeds. They’re some unusual herbs and spices for the gnome party on Wednesday. Not the type of stuff that I’d have on hand, but I knew Alberta could find them.”
She crossed the room and handed me the bags. “She’s good at that sort of thing. Our garden is amazing, and she brings back all kinds of bark and berries and nuts from the woods. I don’t know what half of things she cooks are, but I try a bite or two so I don’t hurt her feelings. I know she does the same with the rabbits and deer I bring home.”
I shook my head, thinking what an odd couple this pair were. But sometimes the two people you thought least likely to fall in love ended up head-over heels. I could tell Alberta and Shelby were happy and they made an adorable couple.
“Are you both coming Saturday?” Part of the peace treaty that my sister Sylvie had negotiated with the two werewolf clans involved allowing those who’d been exiled or who were living as lone wolves to join in on a monthly hunt, and to attend special events at either compound. This barbeque was supposed to be one of those events—the first where that part of the deal would be tested.
Shelby twisted her hands together. “I don’t think so. It’s supposed to be a happy event. I don’t want my presence to create tension.”
“My sisters and I will be there,” I assured her. “You’ll be safe and so will Alberta.”
“I know. That’s not it, though. It’s bound to be uncomfortable for both of us as well as those in my former pack. The looks, the snubs, the snide comments…I’m just not ready for it yet.”
I understood, but someone would need to make the first step, and a barbeque would be a little easier event to transition than the full moon hunt.
“Will you think about it? Maybe just show up for a short time? I know it will be tough seeing your former pack mates and worrying about what sort of reception you’ll get, but it’s a step in the right direction.”
Her mouth twisted into a grimace. “Okay. I’ll talk to Alberta and maybe we’ll just pop in for a moment or two. If Dallas and Clinton give me a cold shoulder, then I’m leaving. I love your cooking, Glenda, but even your smoked pork loin isn’t worth people saying mean things about Alberta and me.”
“Understood.”
She was right. I’d talk to Cassie and Sylvie and see if they could somehow convince Dallas and Clinton to extend a public civil greeting to Shelby and Alberta. They didn’t have to hug them or hang around all afternoon like besties, but if they welcomed the exiled wolf to the event, then their packs would at least know to keep their nasty comments to themselves.
Thanking Shelby, I said that I hoped to see them both at the party next Saturday, and headed for my car. I was driving back to town, lost in thought and musing over my upcoming events, as well as thinking of a sexy demon, when I noticed a car by the side of the road. It looked like someone had been changing a flat and gave up. The vehicle was lopsided, lowered down to the axle in the left front. I glanced in the rear view mirror as I drove past and slammed on the brakes, realizing there were a pair of boots sticking out from under the car.
There were humans who called Accident their home, and supernatural beings who wouldn’t survive having the weight of a car fall on them. Fearing the worst, I dialed the firehouse and frantically dug through my trunk for my jack.
Pierre answered and I let out a relieved breath. I was within the wards that surrounded Accident, and dialing 911 might get me a human rescue squad. The moment the humans left town they’d forget all about whatever supernatural might be trapped under that car, but I still didn’t want to take the chance that this would be the one time in centuries our wards failed us. Plus there was a good chance a human EMT wouldn’t have any idea how to care for whoever was trapped under that car.
“Pierre! I’m out on Hollow Ridge, about a mile south of Beaverton Road. There’s a car on top of someone.”
The vampire shouted to someone else, then turned back to the phone. “A rollover?”
“No. Looks like he, or she, was changing a tire and the car came down on him. Or her.” I found the jack and cradled my phone against my shoulder as I hauled the pieces out of my trunk.
“What kinda car?”
I could hear the sound of an engine starting in the background, and hoped they were leaving with or without Pierre.
“I don’t know.” I lugged the jack parts over to the car and eyed the front. “A Hyundai something or another. Silver with primer gray on the fender. I’m guessing it’s a guy because the feet in boots look kinda big, but it could be a troll.”
Oh no. There were other trolls that came and went from Accident, but my mind automatically went to Alberta. No. Shelby would be devastated if something happened to her mate, although I doubted getting squished by a car would be enough to kill a troll.
“Feet, not fins!” Pierre shouted to someone else. “We’ll be right there, Glenda. Hang on.”
I dropped the phone as he hung up and began to assemble the jack as fast as possible. Then I reached under the car, half afraid of what I might feel but knowing I needed to position this jack under the frame of the car or risk it coming down a second time on whoever was under there. The metal was sticky with what I hoped was some kind of automotive fluid. Determined not to think of it as blood, I shoved the jack under the frame and began the incredibly difficult task of trying to hoist the car up off the ground.
Why didn’t I own one of those nice hydraulic jacks instead of this cheap piece of crap that had come with my car? It was taking every bit of strength to budge this stupid Hyundai, and my jack looked like a flimsy piece of tin foil trying to hold up a…well, a really heavy car. At least Cassie had taught me how to do this when I’d turned sixteen and gotten my license, insisting that I be able to change my own tire if I got caught out somewhere with a crappy cell signal. We might be witches, but none of us could magic a spare onto a car. Unfortunately.
Terrified that my jack wouldn’t hold, I stopped when the car was a mere ten inches off the ground, and swallowed back my fear enough to crawl partway under and see who this unfortunate motorist was.
When I saw Stanley, I nearly wept, partly because I hated seeing him like this, and partly because as a werewolf, his chances of living through such a horrible accident were pretty much guaranteed.
I’d grown rather fond of Accident’s second exiled lone wolf and made a point of chatting with him every time I went into Petunia’s Auto Repair, Bait, and Beer shop. I was there to get beer, because I didn’t fish, and thankfully my car hadn’t needed repair during the last year. Stanley was a werewolf of few words, but get him talking about cars or fishing, and he’d go on for hours. I might not fish, but I certainly was very interested in fish that could be smoked, fried, baked, broiled, or stewed, so Stanley and I had become friendly. He’d brought me a nice trout last week, and in return I’d dropped a batch of blackberry muffins off at Petunia’s as a thank-you.
“Stanley. Oh, Stanley.”
The werewolf shuddered and I tried not to gag as I saw his face better in the dimming sunlight. His body was strangely dented, crushed from the front of the car, but it looked like a particularly heavy part of the undercarriage had come down hard on his head. It was a flattened, bloody oval. A human never would have survived this. A witch never would have survived this. I wasn’t sure a werewolf could. Crushed ribs, broken pelvis, internal bleeding, fractured jaw—all that would heal in a few days or weeks’ time for a shifter. But I knew things like being blown into little bits did a werewolf in. It had to do with damage that was too catastrophic to heal before decay set in. Stanley was all in o
ne piece, but it was his head that bothered me.
Nearly every werewolf in Accident had a concussion weekly, but I’d never seen one with half his skull caved in.
“Pull me out.”
His voice was bubbly and soft, and I couldn’t help but flinch.
“I think your spine is broken. And your head… It’s probably not a good idea to drag you out by your feet. The medics will be here soon. Just hang on, Stanley.”
“Don’t wanna be under this car. Back’ll be fine. Pull me out.”
I cautiously eased my way out from under the car, figuring he’d know better than me what injuries a werewolf could heal from. With a grimace, I grabbed him by the heels of his work boots and pulled, not liking the way his body stretched out or the wet gasps he made as I slowly slid him out from under the car.
The expression of relief on the werewolf’s face once he was free of the car told me I’d made the right choice. “Are you gonna be okay?” I asked, finally hearing the sirens coming up the road.
“Don’t…know. Head. Can’t think.”
Ophelia and Pierre would know better than I how to position Stanley so his supernatural healing would work best. I felt so helpless, and I was the witch whose talents lay in healing. But my skills were more along the line of augmenting or speeding up the natural process. I could shorten the time it took a broken bone to knit, reduce the recovery period for the flu. I wish I could do more than create healing potions—my smoothies that did the job but always tasted so foul. I wished I could truly heal, just channel my power and repair any wound, eradicate cancer, make every part of someone’s body whole and healthy with a wave of a hand and an incantation.
But I couldn’t, so instead I held Stanley’s hand and cried silent tears as I waited for the vehicles coming up the road.
Minions and Magic: Accidental Witches Book 5 Page 2