Misadventures of a Tongue-Tied Witch: Boxed Set Humorous Witch Series

by Livia J. Washburn

  If I had the power in my hands to force things to be better, would I really give it up voluntarily?

  Could I? Would it even be possible?

  This wasn’t the time or the place for an internal philosophical debate with myself, I thought as all that flashed through my head…but what else was I going to do? I was frozen.

  “Damn it, Foster,” Malcolm said angrily. “Not this magic stuff again.”

  So he knew his uncle was a warlock. That came as no real surprise. For most of my life I had believed that I had no powers, as was evidently the case with Malcolm, and I had known that my parents and brother had those abilities. That was something almost impossible to conceal from members of your immediate family.

  “Whatever you’re doing, stop it,” Malcolm went on. “Let her go.”

  “But she wants the bird, Mal,” Foster said. “She’s here to steal it. Look at her.”

  I couldn’t turn my head to look at Malcolm, but I seemed to sense him studying me.

  Donovan spoke up, saying, “Mr. Flynn, you’d better release Aren from that spell. I don’t want to hurt you – “

  “Leave him alone,” Malcolm snapped. “Make a move toward my uncle, Cole, and you’ll regret it.”

  This stand-off was crazy. I struggled against the power holding me motionless. Was Foster Flynn more powerful than I was? After everything that had happened the past few weeks, I didn’t think so. Summoning all the mystical energy I could, I visualized his spell as a giant hand holding me in place, and I strained to break that grip.

  With a suddenness that was shocking, I stumbled forward. The spell was gone, broken. Nothing was between me and the talisman now.

  “Foster!” Malcolm shouted with what sounded like real fear in his voice.

  That raw emotion was compelling enough to make me glance over my shoulder. I saw Foster Flynn standing just inside the bedroom door, swaying a little as he pressed a hand to his chest and gasped for breath. His tanned face above the white beard had turned a sickly shade of gray. He let out a groan and would have fallen if Donovan hadn’t been right there to catch him and hold him up.

  “It’s his heart,” Malcolm said. “He’s got a bad heart, damn it!”

  His head jerked around and he looked at me for a second. I could tell what he was thinking.

  I had just given his uncle a heart attack.

  My own heart dropped when I realized that. Again I had done something that had unintended consequences. I glanced again at the talisman, but with this emergency going on, I couldn’t just grab it and run out of here. I couldn’t have done that, anyway. I’m not a thief.

  “You’d better call 9-1-1,” Donovan said as he held Foster up.

  “No,” the old man said in a weak voice. “I…I’ll be…I’ll be all right.”

  Malcolm hurried over to them and took hold of Foster’s other arm. “Come on,” he said to Donovan. “Let’s put him on the bed.”

  “Be…be careful!” Foster said, but as it turned out he wasn’t urging them to be careful in the way they handled him. He went on, “Watch ‘em, Mal! Don’t…don’t trust ‘em! The girl’s a witch, and this fella…he’s a warlock. They want the falcon!”

  “We’ll talk about that later,” Malcolm said. “Right now all I’m worried about is you.”

  They helped him over to the huge bed. Foster seemed to be breathing a little easier now as he stretched out. He watched me warily.

  “I think we’d better get an ambulance,” Donovan said.

  Foster lifted a trembling hand and waved it back and forth. “Not…not a heart attack,” he said. “Just some…angina.”

  “You can’t be sure of that,” Malcolm said.

  “Yeah, I…I can. I’m a…warlock, son. I know…these things.”

  “Being a warlock isn’t the same as being a doctor,” Malcolm argued.

  “Just…give me a few minutes. Let me…rest here. Then if I still feel as bad…you can call a sawbones.”

  I hadn’t heard anybody call a doctor a sawbones except in a Western movie, but it seemed appropriate coming from this grizzled old-timer. Foster’s color was better now, although his face still had a definite gray tinge to it. He closed his eyes and heaved a sigh.

  “All right,” Malcolm said as he straightened. “Let’s go and let him get some rest.”

  Donovan said, “Not until – “

  Malcolm stepped toward him, jaw jutting out defiantly. “Until what?” he demanded. “Until you and your little tramp get what you came here to steal?”

  I caught my breath. Donovan’s face set in hard lines, and he reacted like a man, not a warlock.

  He took a swing at Malcolm.

  The punch was fast and hard and would have done some damage if it had landed, but Malcolm twisted swiftly and Donovan’s fist went past his head. Malcolm grabbed his arm, and faster than my eyes could follow, he had jerked Donovan’s arm up behind his back and was putting pressure on it.

  “Don’t try anything,” he grated. “I can pop your arm out of its socket faster than any spell you can cast, buddy. And I can promise it’ll hurt.” He looked over Donovan’s shoulder at me. “Go out in the living room, Aren. We need to talk about this.”

  He was right, I realized. The best way to settle this might be to just tell him the truth. He didn’t seem like an unreasonable man. Once he found out why we needed the talisman, he might be willing to help us. There didn’t have to be trouble.

  “All right,” I said. “Donovan, don’t f-fight him. We’ll talk.”

  Donovan’s teeth were clenched against the pain of the hold Malcolm had on him. He said, “Aren, the thing’s right there…He can’t stop you – “

  “We’re not going to st-steal it,” I said. I looked down at Foster. His eyes were closed, but I had a feeling he could hear what I was saying. “It’s time to t-tell the truth.”

  “Yeah, that’d be a nice change,” Malcolm said.

  I was angry at him, too, but I wasn’t going to let myself show it right now. Instead I said, “Come on, b-both of you.”

  Malcolm let go of Donovan’s arm and gave him a little shove that made him stumble a couple of steps toward the bedroom door. Donovan caught himself, and for a second I thought he was going to turn around and throw another punch. He settled for straightening his jacket and squaring his shoulders and glaring at Malcolm. The two of them eyed each other like a couple of dogs that wanted to tear into each other as they followed me out of the bedroom. I backed out so I could watch them and make sure they didn’t start fighting again.

  Malcolm closed the bedroom door behind him. Once the three of us were in the living room, we stood in a rough triangle. Donovan and Malcolm were keeping an eye on each other and trying to watch me at the same time.

  I didn’t think about what I was doing. I gave in to my anger for a moment and stepped up to Malcolm. My hand cracked across his face in a sharp slap.

  “I am n-not a tramp!” I said.

  He gave me a cold, level stare. “You kissed me,” he said. “Who knows what else you would have done to get what you wanted?” He directed an icy smile toward Donovan. “Which I guess makes you her pimp, eh, amigo?”

  “You don’t seem to know who you’re dealing with here,” Donovan said as he struggled visibly to keep his anger under control.

  “I know exactly who I’m dealing with,” Malcolm said. “A couple of bargain basement magicians like my uncle.”

  “Your uncle is a p-powerful warlock,” I said.

  Malcolm shook his head. “No, he’s not. He can cast a few spells, that’s all. The power’s been dying out in my family for generations.” He spread his hands. “It’s fizzled out completely in me. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have a few tricks of my own up my sleeve.”

  “That’s right,” Donovan said. “You’re a crook.”

  That accusation made Malcolm bristle. With a note of injured pride in his voice, he said, “The Shamrock is a legitimate business. The games are honest. I wouldn’t have it
any other way.”

  “That’s not what I’ve heard.”

  Malcolm’s eyes narrowed as he said, “So you’ve been prying into my business, have you? Well, I’m not surprised. If you’d bothered to dig deeper, you would have found out that Vincent Arkady has been trying for years to either take over this casino or run me out of business.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Who’s V-Vincent Arkady?”

  Malcolm gave me the same kind of cold smile he had given Donovan a minute earlier. “A Russian mobster who came to Las Vegas ten years ago and started taking over everything he can get his crooked claws in. Some of the other independent owners have tried to fight him, but he’s made them cave in, one by one, until I’m really the only one left. A week ago he gave me an ultimatum. Sell out to him immediately, or suffer the consequences. I’m sure it was one of his goons who pulled the fire alarm earlier. He’s been pulling tricks like that for months, and it’s only a matter of time until he does something worse.”

  This was crazy, I thought. Now Donovan and I had stumbled into some sort of gang war. What else was going to happen?

  Hearing about Russian mobsters made me think about the man who had tried twice to kill me. For a second I wondered if there was some connection, but then I realized that made no sense at all. This morning, Malcolm Flynn had had no idea who I was, and the same had to be true for this Vincent Arkady.

  No answers, I thought. Only more questions.

  But we had to focus on what was the most pressing problem, I told myself. “I’m s-sorry for your troubles,” I said to Malcolm, “and I’m s-sorry you think I’m a thief. For a second there, I n-nearly was. That’s because the t-talisman is so important to us.”

  “The talisman,” Malcolm repeated. “That stuffed bird?”

  “Cearul,” I said. “That’s the b-bird’s name. He was once the familiar of the most p-powerful warlock in Ireland. Maybe in the whole world at that time. His name was Eamon.”

  And you look just like him, I thought, but telling that to Malcolm would just complicate things more and might make him even less likely to believe the rest of what we had to tell him. So I didn’t say anything about that.

  Instead, I went on, “We need the falcon to help us rescue some people who are very important to us. My f-father is one of them.”

  “And my mother,” Donovan added.

  Malcolm frowned skeptically. “Are these people being held prisoner somewhere?” he asked.

  “Not being held prisoner, exactly,” I said. “But they are trapped.”

  “Where?”

  “In the realm of the w-witches’ council.”

  He looked at me for a moment with no expression on his face. Then he did what I was afraid he would do.

  He laughed.

  “You don’t expect me to believe all this, do you?” he said. “I don’t know why you want that stuffed bird, but there has to be some other reason. Some concrete, profitable reason. Has it got a bunch of diamonds hidden inside it? A treasure map tattooed onto its hide underneath the feathers? Why do you really want it?”

  “Damn it, diamonds and treasure m-maps are a lot more far-fetched than the truth! You know your uncle’s a warlock! Why won’t you believe us about this?”

  “Because I’ve heard crazy stories and legends about witches and warlocks all my life,” Malcolm said. “Sure, there’s some truth to them, I suppose. But my father and grandfather and great-grandfather worked hard all their lives to build this.” A wave of his hand encompassed the Shamrock all around us. “They didn’t do it by casting some spell! As for your so-called witches’ council…that’s just some fairy tale people use to scare their kids who are misbehaving.”

  “You’re wrong,” Donovan said tightly. “There is a witches’ council, and I should know. My mother’s a member of it, and she’s one of the people trapped in that realm.”

  At least he didn’t add that it was my fault, I thought, and I was grateful for that.

  As for Malcolm’s surprising attitude, I supposed I could understand it. From the way he talked, the members of his family had sort of turned their backs on witchcraft. Whether that was their choice, or whether their powers had faded somewhat, as he had mentioned a few minutes earlier, I didn’t know. But if Malcolm had been raised with an awareness of magic but was cut off from it for the most past, it was no wonder that he felt as he did.

  “Malcolm, listen to me,” I said, trying to put as much sincerity in my voice as I could. “I’m s-sorry we didn’t tell you the whole story right away, but we had no way of knowing that you’d b-believe it. It was more likely you’d call the p-police and tell them we were lunatics. But now that we know your uncle Foster is a w-warlock, there’s no reason for us not to come clean with you. Everything we’ve told you is the truth. We need that f-falcon to help us rescue Donovan’s mother and my father. It’ll amplify our powers to the point we can cast a p-powerful reversal spell.”

  He frowned and asked, “What exactly is it you’re trying to reverse, anyway?”

  I hated to tell him just how much of this was my fault, but I didn’t see any way around it. I was convinced that being honest with him was our best chance of accomplishing our goals.

  He stood there listening as I told him about Angela Vandermeer and the havoc her jealousy had wreaked in our lives, aided by my inexperienced reactions to it. I could tell that he was skeptical at first, but he started to get interested in spite of himself. I didn’t tell him about how I had fallen in love with Donovan because of the spell he’d cast on me. That was even more embarrassing than the way my ineptitude had imprisoned Sharon, Angela, and my dad.

  “So you see,” I concluded, “I’m to b-blame for all of this. If it weren’t for me, we wouldn’t be here intruding on you and causing your uncle to have a heart attack.”

  “I don’t think he had a heart attack,” Malcolm said. “He does have a weak heart, that’s true, and the doctor told him to avoid stress. The doctor told him to avoid booze, too, and he hasn’t exactly done that, has he? If he wasn’t drunk, you wouldn’t have been able to break free of his spell that easily. He’s not very powerful, but some things he can still do pretty well.”

  “He was drunk?” Donovan asked.

  “Why do you think he wandered out onto the stage during the show like that?”

  I said, “I thought he was just easily confused. Like he has – “

  Malcolm shook his head. “He doesn’t have Alzheimer’s. He’s a boozer, and he likes to live in the past, when he was part of a powerful coven out here. But now they’re all just a bunch of old coots who have lost most of their powers. Now they just sit around and drink and talk about the old days.”

  “There was a coven in Las Vegas?” Donovan asked.

  “And you just thought the mob ran the place all those years,” Malcolm said with a faint smile. “Well, actually, that’s true. There were some things even Foster and his friends wouldn’t go up against. That’s because none of them were ever as powerful as they thought they were.”

  All this was interesting, but the dilemma that had brought us here still hung over our heads. I said, “Will you help us, Malcolm? All we need to do is b-borrow the talisman for a while.”

  I hoped that was true. Actually, I didn’t really know how long it would take to free the prisoners.

  Malcolm frowned in thought for a moment, then said, “I still don’t know if I believe that crazy story or not, but I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to talk to Foster about it. The decision is as much his as it is mine. The bird has been handed down from generation to generation in my family. Foster’s the only living relative I have, so he ought to have a say in it.”

  “Thank you,” I told him. “I’m sure if we explain everything to him – “

  “Hold on,” Malcolm said, raising a hand to stop me as I took a step toward the bedroom door. “Let me check on him first. He may have dozed off, and I don’t want to wake him up.”

  Donovan said, “Don’t forget, we have loved
ones trapped over there.”

  “Yeah, and they’ve been there this long already. Another couple of minutes won’t hurt anything.”

  Since Malcolm didn’t have any powers, we could have forced him to do whatever we wanted. He seemed to believe us, though, and I didn’t think it would be a good idea to double-cross him now. I looked at Donovan and nodded, hoping he would understand that I thought we should let Malcolm proceed however he wanted to. Donovan looked impatient, but he gave me a tiny nod in return.

  Malcolm went to the bedroom door and opened it quietly. He looked into the room…

  I saw him stiffen, and a tingle of alarm went through me. He looked back toward us with surprise and worry on his face.

  “He’s gone. Foster’s gone.”

  And he didn’t have to tell us that so was the talisman.

  Chapter 19

  Even though I knew somehow that Cearul had to be gone, too, I rushed over to the door and tried to peer past Malcolm. I didn’t think he was lying, but I had to see for sure, with my own eyes. Donovan was right behind me.

  Malcolm didn’t try to stop us from looking into the bedroom. In fact, he threw the door wide open and stalked in there, only to stop, sweep his jacket back, and rest his hands at his waist in an attitude of disgust as we followed him into the room.

  The mantel over the fireplace was empty. My heart sank when I saw that, even though I’d been expecting it.

  “The old codger played us!” Malcolm said. “I’m not sure there was anything wrong with him to start with.”

  “That attack looked real enough to me,” I said. “I think he was really in p-pain.”

  “Maybe so, but he recovered in a hurry.”

  “And took the falcon with him,” Donovan said.

  “How did he get out of here?” I asked.

  Malcolm pointed to a door I hadn’t noticed. “That leads into the bathroom, and there’s a closet on the other side of it. In that closet is a concealed door that leads into a guest bedroom. It was an escape route, I guess you could say. My great-grandfather had plenty of enemies when he built this hotel.”