Minions and Magic: Accidental Witches Book 5

by Dunbar, Debra

  “I have a bedroom,” I assured him. Then I took his hand and led him to bed, with all that mess behind us. It could wait until morning. Everything could wait until morning.

  Chapter 12

  Glenda

  I woke up next to a naked demon.

  He’d stayed through the night. And judging from the soft cadence of his breathing, I got the impression he wasn’t going to be waking up for quite a while yet. Not everyone was up at the crack of dawn like I was. It didn’t bother me one bit. In fact, I really didn’t want to wake him, so instead I just stared at him as the faint peach glow of the sunrise began to make its way across my bedroom floor.

  The sheets had tangled around his waist, leaving his upper body and legs exposed. I drank in the view, admiring the curve of muscles, the dusting of light hair, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath. I wanted so badly to reach out and touch him, to trace my finger along his sculpted arms. But there was something I wanted to do more.

  Carefully easing my way out of bed, I tip-toed into the bathroom, brushing my teeth before making my way through the bedroom once more and into the kitchen where I tied an apron around my naked body and got to work. The sun had broken free from the horizon when Xavier stumbled from the bedroom, his hair still sleep-tossed, a towel wrapped around his waist, his face clean-shaven.

  “Something smells amazing.” He walked over and wrapped his arms around my waist, kissing me on the neck.

  “Baked French toast casserole with crème fraiche and fresh berries. Oh, and bacon, because nobody seems to eat breakfast anymore without a large serving of meat.” I scooted said meat around the pain with a pair of tongs and reveled in the feel of his skin against mine. From the hard-on poking me in the ass, he was reveling in the feel as well.

  “I meant you smell amazing.” He sniffed my neck, then nipped his way down to my shoulder. “Like sex and toothpaste and powdered sugar.”

  Heat rolled in one long wave down my body. The baked French toast could wait. The bacon could wait. But by the time we got done doing the mattress limbo, the puffy soufflé-like pastry would have fallen and become tough and chewy, and the bacon would be cold with congealed grease. As much as I wanted yet another round of sex with Xavier, I couldn’t allow such a magnificent breakfast to be spoiled.

  And honestly, I barely had enough time to enjoy a relaxing breakfast before I loaded up my van and got going. If this demon wanted more than one night, we’d have other opportunities for making love. Like maybe tomorrow, the day after the gnome party and two days before the werewolf barbeque. Maybe he’d accompany me to the barbeque. I’d love to introduce him to my sisters. I’d love to have him there by my side.

  But first, breakfast.

  “You turn the bacon,” I told him, turning in his arms to hand him the tongs. The motion rubbed my naked butt along his erection, and my new position put it in just the right spot.

  Ugh. Soufflé. Why couldn’t I just have opened a box of grocery store donuts?

  I reluctantly moved away from him. “I’m going to check on the French toast.”

  He made an appreciative noise as I bent over to peek into the oven, and I laughed, realizing that I was naked and my apron didn’t exactly go all the way around my body.

  “Mind that bacon,” I scolded. “I don’t want it to burn.” Crispy, but not too crispy was how I liked it, and that required a lot of attention.

  “I can watch both the bacon and your ass.” He grumbled, although he did turn back to the stove.

  “You overcook that bacon and I won’t let you have any brisket at the barbeque,” I told him. Was I taking him to the barbeque? Would he want to go? Would he stick around that long, or take off with some excuse about how this would never work out?

  “I make a mean brisket myself.” He shot me a naughty glance before looking down at the bacon. “If I don’t get any of yours then you don’t get any of mine.”

  I really wanted some of his, and I didn’t just mean his brisket either, but I could never resist a challenge.

  “Bet mine’s better than yours.”

  He chuckled. “Your brisket? Or your ass? Because your ass is definitely better than mine. Your brisket most definitely isn’t.”

  Oh, this demon was going to get the smackdown of his life.

  “Gonna put your money where your mouth is, buster? We’ll let the werewolf alphas judge, because no one knows meat like a werewolf. Dallas, Clinton, and Tink also in the unlikely case there’s a tie.”

  “Deal.” His smile was downright naughty. “You win, and you get whatever you want. I win and I get whatever I want.”

  I pulled a bottle out of the fridge and shut the door with my hip. “Anything? Anything I want?”

  He nodded. “Anything. Your wish will be my command.”

  He bowed and I took the bacon tongs from his hand as he rose, giving him the bottle instead.

  “Then it’s a deal. Brisket wars begin tonight, and the winner will be decided Saturday at the barbeque. Now, pop this champagne. I’ve got fresh squeezed juice over on the table if you want mimosas, or we can drink them separately.”

  The “table” wasn’t exactly an actual dining room table since I had no such room or piece of furniture. Instead I’d converted one of my stainless steel tables into a makeshift dining spot with a tablecloth, fancy disposable plates and utensils, and a pretty glass candelabra—all courtesy of my catering business. Thankfully the serving dishes were rather pretty since eating on paper plates, no matter how sturdy, didn’t seem particularly romantic.

  Note to self: buy dishes and silverware if this lasts more than a few days. Maybe even invest in an actual dining room set.

  Why was I so pessimistic? We’d had an amazing time together the last two days. The sex had been mind-blowing. There was nothing in his words or actions to lead me to believe this was just a brief fling for him. I really needed to stop expecting the worst and focus on the positive for once. I needed to dump the baggage of my past horrible relationships and start this one fresh.

  The loud pop of the champagne cork broke me out of my reverie.

  I blotted the grease off the bacon as I took each slice from the pan, then neatly layered it onto a dish. Xavier was pouring the champagne, and I smiled at him as I sat the plate of bacon on the table. Then removing the French toast casserole out of the oven, I carried it over and carefully sat the baking dish into an ornate metal stand. Two cups of coffee followed, and we were ready.

  Xavier came around the table to pull out the stool for me. In an impulsive gesture that mirrored my new positive attitude, I took off the apron and sat down for breakfast naked as the day I was born.

  He laughed and whipped off his towel, tossing it across the room as he circled the table to take his seat. Our eyes met and he picked up his glass of champagne.

  “To wood-fired pizza ovens.”

  I grinned. “To Mugnaini wood-fired pizza ovens.”

  “Of course, because only the best will do for my witch.”

  We touched glasses, drank, then tucked into the food in a companionable silence. Finally Xavier leaned back and sighed, patting his stomach.

  “That was amazing. I wish you didn’t have this catering job. We could cook, eat, and have sex all day, or week, or month, or forever.”

  The idea sounded oddly appealing, but as fast as I was falling for this demon, I knew that relationships could burn out in the blink of an eye, leaving me alone with the one thing that had never failed to give me solace in times of sorrow.

  “I love my job.” I told him. “You can’t be the only one to enjoy my talents in the kitchen.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “And your talents in the bedroom?”

  “Those I’ll gift to you alone.”

  “You better.” He got up and came around the table, pulling me off my stool and into his arms. “I don’t like to share. If I can’t be the sole recipient of your culinary skills, I better be the only one in your bed.”

  “So sex with other pe
ople in my van is okay?” I teased. “Or a room in Hollister’s Inn? Or that pond off Dillon’s Bend Road?”

  He smiled down at me, but something dark flickered in his blue eyes. “I’m changing my mind. You’re too tempting to be around these mortals. I’m going to spirit you off to hell and lock you away where you’ll always be mine.”

  I shivered a bit, searching his face. The darkness was gone, leaving the sexy demon I’d come to know the last few days. He could never take me by force. I might not have anything in the way of defensive or offensive magic, but my sisters did. They’d never let anyone hurt me. And if Xavier did drag me off to hell, I’m sure Cassie could get Lucien to do something about it. He was the son of Satan, after all.

  But what if I went voluntarily? I had my career and my family, but what else was holding me here? Hell had always been portrayed in a terrifying light, but maybe there were nice areas that would be good for a holiday with a sexy demon. It could be like vacationing in Hawaii and checking out the volcanos. Would I have to be dead first? Could I squeeze a trip to hell in between catering jobs?

  “I’m so busy.” I reached up to put my hand on his cheek. “Maybe I can put a long weekend on the schedule sometime in the next few months.”

  He turned his head to kiss my palm. “And what if I want more than a long weekend?”

  If the last few days were any indication, I would want more than a long weekend as well. I’d want a lifetime. How would that work? His job as a crossroads demon, and my booked-solid schedule? The goblin party hadn’t been all that difficult to prep for, and the barbeque was mostly meat, but what would happen when I was spending every waking moment for weeks prepping food, attending events, and rushing home to clean before launching into more prep?

  “Let’s take it one day at a time.” I moved his hands from my waist and took a step back.

  One day at a time. And if some miracle occurred and this thing between us had staying power, well then maybe I’d do what I’d never considered before and start saying “no” to jobs. Maybe I’d make room in my life for more than just my career.

  Chapter 13

  Glenda

  I arrived just before noon, waving to Antwan as I hopped out of the van. He looked completely out of place—a tall, muscle-bound, bald, black man who looked like he should have been a CrossFit trainer or a bouncer standing in front of a putt-putt course. He’d moved to Accident five years ago but was more comfortable in the human world than most of our residents. He’d bought this putt-putt course, and construction was underway to build an old-fashioned arcade to the side, and he seemed to be happy in our community even though he took vacations a three or four times a year to head to the coast. No doubt our lakes and marshes weren’t quite what the shark shifter was used to.

  Antwan waved back, giving the parking lot a quick scan before opening the door for me.

  “Everything good?” I asked him.

  He nodded. “Your sister was here putting up the charms an hour ago. I made sure all my regulars knew today was a private party.”

  Bronwyn and Sylvie had partnered to work on a set of charms that would deter humans from even entering the parking lot. If any somehow managed to pass those, then Antwan would make sure they left before they saw anything.

  And trust me, if Antwan asked someone to leave, they left. I’d grown up around trolls, werewolves, and even a dragon, but Antwan was the most intimidating person I’d ever met.

  “Piffle is already here decorating,” he added. “I’m gonna be minding the door most of the time, so make sure you save a plate for me.”

  My eyes widened. “Of gnome food? Slugs, turnips, bread, and sour cherry pie?”

  His face settled into a thoughtful expression. “Never had slugs before. I like eel, though and I’m assuming it’s similar? I’d be willing to give it a try.”

  Okay. Mental note: shark shifters like eel, and aren’t adverse to trying unusual foods. “I’ll put a few aside for you to try,” I told him as I pulled my cart through the doorway.

  Piffle was putting red pointed birthday hats on tables, her blonde braids nearly brushing the ground as she walked. The tables were set near a seven-foot pile of fake granite rocks, the dinosaur waterfall spewing neon blue water in the background.

  Gnomes were famous for their gardening abilities. Flowers. Vegetables. They were especially good at growing root vegetables. I could get all sorts of heirloom varieties of veggies with flavor profiles absent in a world of supermarket foods. When I’d been told the birthday party was going to be here, I’d been surprised. Artificial turf, concrete rocks and animals, and plastic flora surrounded us. I guess the appeal was the game itself. Gnomes loved to play, and they had been able to talk about nothing but this party for over a month now. None of them had ever played putt-putt before, making this party just as much about the new game as it was Gronk’s birthday celebration.

  “Here?” I asked Piffle as I pulled a set of chafing dishes from the cart.

  “The buffet goes on this table,” she replied, braids bouncing as she trotted over to a long, low table.

  I bent to put the chafing dishes down. The tallest gnomes were barely above my knee, although the tall pointed hats many of them liked to wear put them closer to my hip. Just as the food was tailored to their tastes, these tables were set for their height. Which meant I was probably going to need a chiropractor when I was done with this party. Or a massage.

  My imagination was suddenly filled with visions of Xavier and naked massage. Both of us naked. And that massage leading to a couple of very happy endings. I shook off the thoughts and got down to work. I had a party to cater, and there was no way I was going to let naughty fantasies about a sexy demon interfere with my work.

  The gnomes began arriving just as I’d set out the schallea. They socialized, then sang an off-key version of the birthday song, before drinking a glass of schallea in Gronk’s honor. The birthday boy gave a short speech thanking everyone for attending, then instructed them all to get a golf club, a ball, and start playing.

  Gnomes playing putt-putt had to be one of the most amusing things I’d seen this year. They took the game very seriously, behaving as if they were on the PGA tourney as they set up at each hole. A bogey resulted in cries of frustration and shaking the golf club at the sky. A hole in one seemed to require universal celebration, including a few moments of dancing. I’d never seen so many gnomes bounding around and “flossing” before today. Thankfully gnomes weren’t competitive, and they celebrated every time one of them shouted “one!” and moaned when someone had a poor shot.

  As they finished up, they all came through the buffet line, eating bread and turnips as their first course. A few indulged in a second glass of schallea, and I sincerely hoped those gnomes were not driving back to Accident after the party.

  Everyone made “ooo” noises as I put out the slugs. This had been the most complicated food of this party. They’d been sliced and marinated for twenty-four hours, then baked in the oven. I’d wrapped each slice of slug in pie crust, baking it again to make little slug pies. Just before serving, I poured the warm sauce over each pie. Even I thought they looked and smelled delicious, if only I didn’t know what was inside the pastry shells.

  The gnomes swarmed the buffet table and soon there was nothing but empty trays and happy gnomes, all patting their protruding bellies and stroking their beards. I began to prep the sour cherry pies while Scooter and Depper stood up to give speeches about Gronk’s illustrious life, including some ribbing about a few of the old gnome’s gardening faux pas over the centuries. As I put the pies on the table, I saw Scooter clutch his stomach and run off the stage. A few seconds later, Depper followed him. A trickle of fear raced down my back and I hoped that both gnomes suddenly had to pee.

  They didn’t. I’d barely begun to cut the pies and gnomes were running from the tables as if someone had screamed fire, but instead of screaming all I heard was retching.

  Piffle staggered back in. Her face had a greeni
sh cast and she gagged a little as she caught sight of the pies. I moved to block her view and asked her what was going on, not sure if I needed to break out some of my healing magic, or place an emergency call to Cassie or what.

  “Slugs,” she gasped, clasping a hand over her mouth. “Something…in…slugs.”

  “What can I do?” I asked Piffle. “I’ve got some healing potions in the van that I can bring in. Or Tums? Seltzer water?”

  The gnome retched a little at the mention of my potions. Although my smoothies were in high demand for serious injury, many decided they’d rather endure the discomfort of aches, pains, and head colds rather than deal with the foul taste. I wasn’t sure if my magic would make any of the gnomes feel less queasy, but it certainly would help keep the vomiting at bay.

  The vomiting. Poor Antwan. He’d need to clean upchuck off the artificial turf, the concrete sculptures, and especially the waterfall by the eighteenth hole.

  “No. We’ll be fine in an hour or so, once we get it all out of our system,” Piffle told me with a wave of her hand. “It’ll…It’ll be okay.”

  No, it wouldn’t. This had never happened to me before. I’d prepared all sorts of unusual foods for the supernatural beings of Accident, and never made any of them sick. I’d never even missed the mark—not once. My food was always delicious. Perfect. What had happened to make these slugs so horrible? I’d taken such care with the recipe, with the ingredients, with the preparation. This shouldn’t have happened.

  But it did, and clearly it was my fault.

  I’d ruined Gronk’s birthday party. Now probably wasn’t the time to offer reparations, plus I needed time to think of what might be a suitable “I’m so sorry” for what seemed to have been massive food poisoning in the gnome community, but there was one thing I could do.