by Sam Cheever
Jacob staggered sideways, his energy flaring out from his hands and burning along the web with what I at first thought was little effect.
But a heartbeat later, the webbing fell away from him, disappearing into the air as it sifted downward.
“Sebille!” I tried again, my desperate gaze falling to the kittens near my feet.
Deg lifted his hands again but didn’t get a chance to try another spell. Jacob’s voice boomed around the room as a power word burst from his lungs, sending the other witch flying away from him to join LA on the artifact-littered floor.
Then Jacob turned to me.
My pulse pounded so hard that I was afraid I might pass out. But I faced him calmly, the sword still gripped in my hand. It burned my palm, the energy building there impatient to be spent.
SB flapped his wings, dancing from side to side on my shoulder. “Aye, ye blackguard grab yer sword. Or blood will be spent ye can ill afford.”
I felt my lips curve upward as a calm came over me. I swung the blade in a testing motion, slashing it through the magic-drenched air and stepping toward Jacob.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and waited, a smug look on his evil, handsome face.
“Ye might think ye’ll know, ye might think ye’ll see, but Blackbeard’s blade is on to thee.”
I flashed forward, my feet moving so fast I didn’t even have time to think about moving, and swung the blade.
Jacob’s smug expression fell away, and a look of surprise replaced it. He looked down at the ribbon of blood seeping through his shirt.
With a roar, he grabbed for some energy.
“Ye scurvy blackguard think ye see. But none can track the speed. Not thee.”
The blade slashed from stem to stern, opening up a long, shallow cut that spilled more blood the length of Jacob’s torso.
“Not thee.”
It flashed again. And again. And again.
As Jacob dropped to his knees, I lowered the sword to my side, suddenly exhausted beyond belief.
“Not thee,” I murmured, staggering backward and dropping the blade.
Sebille stepped out of the darkness, her fiery red hair like a beacon. “Is this what you were looking for?”
I took the book, panting with exhaustion. “The kittens?” I asked my friend.
“Safe.”
I nodded, holding the book perched on my open palm as the pages started to flicker. They sped and sped until they found the exact page I’d been looking for. Then they stopped and I looked down at the familiar image of the clock tower.
I glanced toward Jacob. “You’ll hate it here, which makes me smile. It’s not exactly Hell, but it’s pretty darn close.” I reached down and grabbed one of his bloody hands, lifting it and pressing it against the image.
I watched the magic grab him, yank him off the ground, and tug him into the book, his bloody palm print seeping into the page along with him.
Then I reached out and ripped the page from the book, tearing it into a hundred tiny pieces and setting it to flame with my piddly magic before I let my knees buckle and carry me to the ground.
Sebille took the book from me and helped me to my feet. “Come on Keeper. I’m going to make you a cup of tea.”
My head pounded and my vision swam. “My friends…”
“They’re fine. I called Lea. She’ll make sure they get any care they need.”
I nodded, licking my dry lips. “Sebille?”
“What?” she asked as she supported me up the steps.
“You’re not being nice to me, are you?”
She stiffened against me. “If you tell anybody I’ll deny it.”
I grinned. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
She helped me through the door and over to my bed. I saw with a smile that Wicked’s pillow was dented by his soft little body.
There was also a kitten on my pillow. And the rest of the bed was covered with the other three. I sighed. “Couch it is then.”
Sebille shook her head but didn’t try to talk me out of it. She got me settled on the couch. Even covered me with a blanket, and then went to make me some tea that would hopefully pull the ache from my head.
Then I had a sudden, horrible thought. I jerked upright, forgetting about the headache in my panic and grasping my head with a groan. “Frog’s cankles!”
“Lie still,” Sebille barked at me.
I lay back down, my hand covering my eyes as they tried to spin out of my head. “What happened to Rustin? Is he out of the frog?”
Sebille handed me my cup. Her funny-looking freckled face scrunched with unhappiness. “I’m afraid not. Quilleran’s interference stopped the ritual before he made it out.”
Tears burned my eyes. “Poor Rustin.”
Sebille stepped away. “We’ll find another way. Your friends were talking downstairs. They’re already working on it.”
I nodded, sniffling as I raised the cup to my lips. I held tight to her reassurance, which was a rare gem because she so infrequently bothered with such things. I made myself a promise that I would find a way to release Rustin.
He deserved a chance at the life his family stole from him. In the meantime, I guessed I could keep a frog and a cat. Lots of people dealt with far more animal sidekicks than that.
The rim of the teacup touched my lips, and I stilled. Looking up at Sebille, I narrowed my gaze. “You didn’t use an infuser on this, did you?”
Her laughter was singularly annoying. Especially since it went on for several minutes. And in the end, seeing a particular glint in her eye, I was afraid to drink my tea.
22
All Wrapped up
I stood under the bleachers and looked around, seeing the torn grass and scorched metal from our battle with Margot. The memory sat heavy on my chest. Not because of Margot, but because of what the incident had set into motion for Maude Quilleran.
No one had spoken to her since the night Queen Sindra’s army liberated Sebille and Mr. Slimy from captivity, capturing Felicity, Candace, and several Quilleran cousins before Jacob Quilleran managed to escape their net.
The Quillerans, including the cockroach in a magic jar, were currently cooling their heels, or the cockroach equivalent, in a special prison run by The Société of Dire Magic. Miracle of miracles, I’d learned that the Société had offices somewhere in the States, although nobody could tell me where they were.
I was thinking Area 51 maybe. I mean, why not?
And Jacob. The page in the book was still torn out. It hadn’t reappeared. Using my knowledge of how magic works, and some careful investigation by Lea, I was going with, he was still wandering around in the fog under that dang clock, which never quite reached the bewitching hour of Midnight anymore.
Good.
He could stay there for eternity as far as I was concerned.
As for Rustin. Well. I’d had another dream about him the night before. He’d seemed resigned to his fate, only asking that I watch out for his cousin Maude. He’d assured me she was one of the few good Quilleran witches.
I didn’t doubt that at all.
Which was why I was currently standing under the bleachers holding the teen’s cell phone, hoping I could see her and maybe offer to help.
But I’d been there for over an hour, and with every passing moment, I realized it had been stupid to think I could run into her there.
She was probably hiding out somewhere, believing she was in the Société’s crosshairs. I just hoped she was okay because I really wanted to fulfill that promise to Rustin. I hadn’t been able to do much else to help him.
Sighing my resignation, I placed the phone on the concrete surrounding the central support leg of the bleachers, as Maude had asked me to do.
I’d probably never know the answers to the other questions in my mind. I’d have to learn to deal with that.
At least I’d fulfilled my task of finding and securing the artifact I’d been assigned. The kittens had given up their special sigils the night we’d
tried to bring Rustin back. Though the ritual had been interrupted, dooming poor Rustin to spending the remainder of his life as a frog, the kittens had fulfilled their task, and whatever had impelled them to stay together was gone.
With the Quillerans spread far and wide, I thought they might finally be safe. Lea had declared it was time she took a true familiar and claimed the smallest kitten for her own, a sweet-faced little girl she’d named Hex.
LA had taken the remaining three kittens back with her, stating that Deg and her other witch friend, Mandy, might take two of them. She’d also been nursing a quiet confidence about the third. I hoped that meant she was thinking of keeping her. It would be fun if we could keep all the babies close enough to see each other on a regular basis.
I started off toward my car, which was parked in the exact same spot it had been the night we’d run from the enforcer. I know this because the perfect outline of my little VW bug was burned into the High School parking lot.
No doubt from powerful cloaking Fae magics.
It felt like I had a duty to park my car in that perfect outline. It would seem ungrateful not to.
“Naida?”
I jerked to a stop, spinning on my heel.
Young Maude stood in the grass several feet behind me, hugging herself and looking at me as if I might pull out Blackbeard’s sword and smite her with it.
First of all, that wasn’t even a possibility. Not only was I done smiting people for a long, long time, but after too many hours spent carting SB around on my shoulder, I was still pulling parrot feathers out of my hair and clothes. I had no desire to revisit that rollercoaster fun ride any time soon.
“Maude. You’re okay?”
She nodded, rubbing her arms as if she were cold. “I’m with…family.”
I understood she didn’t want to tell me more than that. She probably didn’t fully trust that I wouldn’t turn her in to The Société of Dire Magic. “Good. I’m glad you’re safe. The kittens are safe too. And Wicked would love to see you if you ever want to come for a visit.”
She nodded, the ghost of a smile finally finding her pretty face. “I’d love that.”
We stood in silence for a few beats and then I pointed toward the bleachers. “I put your phone where you told me. Thanks, by the way, for your help. I’m only sorry we couldn’t save Rustin.”
Maude frowned. “Don’t worry about that. I actually have somebody working on it. We have his body and the original artifact, and we hope to extract him soon.”
I felt my brows climbing up my forehead. “You do? But where…how?”
She shook her head. “I can’t say. I’m sorry. You understand?”
I hesitated only briefly before nodding. “Of course. I’m just happy to hear you might be able to help him.” I had a flash of understanding and suddenly knew who had the artifact and how they planned to help Rustin. I also realized why the Quillerans had been trying to create a substitute for the original artifact with the kittens. They’d probably never actually had Balthire’s creation in their hands.
If I wasn’t mistaken, Eglund Balthire’s mystery woman, the inspiration for the original well-meaning artifact, was alive and well and likely had his ritual notes to work with.
That was really good news for Rustin and answered a lot of my questions too, which was a bonus. And, since the artifact was, arguably, with its original owner, I could leave it right where it was. No need to rescue it and ensconce it in the artifact library.
Maude nodded, looking relieved. “Well, I should get going. I just wanted to tell you I was all right. And to thank you for trying to help Rustin. That means a lot to…us.”
I shook my head. “I failed. I can’t accept your thanks.”
“Only because Pops stopped you. It’s not your fault.”
I shrugged, praying Maude didn’t ask what happened to her father.
She didn’t. “Goodbye, Naida.”
“Goodbye, Maude.” I watched her turn and walk a few feet away before calling out to her again. “Maude?”
She half-turned. “Yes?”
“Tell Madeline I said hey.”
Shock filled her Quilleran yellow gaze, and I realized she’d come into her true magic, losing the blue eyes of her birth to the color of the family magic. Which meant, when she’d spelled Wicked to protect him from her family, she’d only been a novice witch. The thought was daunting. She and her Aunt Madeline were more alike than I’d ever suspected.
Both scary powerful.
Then she gave me a crooked smile. “I’ll do that, Keeper. If I happen to run into her.”
I turned away, grinning, and headed back toward Croakies with a much lighter heart.
The End
Read More Enchanting Inquiries
Did you enjoy Tea & Croakies? If so, you might want to check out Book 2 of Enchanting Inquiries, Fortune Croakies.
Please enjoy Chapter One of Fortune Croakies, my gift to you!
I wish my job as a magical librarian was just about shuffling books and shushing people from behind a desk. Alas, the magic I wrangle requires a bit more than shuffling and shushing. And to make things worse, I have a frog and a cat, and I have no idea how to use them!
Sure, I understand, we all have bills to pay. Personally, I could use a bit of extra cash too. But I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t kill for it. At least…not without dark magic influence. And that’s exactly the problem.
Dark. Magic. Influence.
My first challenge for the day is finding that artifact and putting it under lock and key before it kills anybody else.
My second challenge is figuring out how to deal with a bossy frog and a pushy cat.
Which of the two do you suppose will give me the bigger headache?
Yeah. That’s what I think too. The frog and cat are going to be the death of my sanity.
Maybe I should put them under lock and key too.
Fortune Croakies
It isn’t every day that you find yourself staring at a frog’s fat butt bulging out of a sink drain. I would have felt better if I believed it would never happen again, but given the facts of my very strange life, I figured it definitely would.
Sighing, I have the squishy bulk a tentative poke with my finger, earning a forlorn, “Ribbit!” for my efforts. Something trickled downward, hitting my cheek and dripping down to the paper towel I had draped under my head to keep “under the sink” cooties off my hair.
I realized, too late, what had just dripped on me.
“Argh!” I shoved out from under the sink and bent over while grabbing frantically for more paper towel to wipe frog pee off my cheek. “I can’t believe it!”
The figure lounging against my refrigerator grinned. “You shouldn’t poke a stressed frog, Naida.”
I glared at the source of almost all my problems.
Okay, I know I previously said that about Mr. Wicked, my adorable kitten who was probably better at being an artifact keeper than I was. But I’d reassessed the players and decided Rustin Quilleran, former witch and current frog squatter, was definitely more trouble than my sweet little kitten.
I mean, Wicked was curled up on his pillow, purring happily.
Rustin was driving a fat frog bus that got itself jammed in my drain and peed on my face.
I’ll let you do the math.
“Not funny. You need to keep a better lock on the contents of your bladder.”
His grin widened. “I think you have a mistaken view of my ability to control your wedged friend,” he told me. “I’m just a passenger on that particular bus.”
Which, normally I’d be happy about. I mean, when Rustin had gotten stuck in the frog because of a spell his terrible family had performed, I’d felt terrible. We’d tried everything to get him out of there. But, in the end, the evil Jacob Quilleran had interfered, making certain poor Rustin didn’t escape the fate Jacob had locked him into.
I still hadn’t found out why Rustin’s Uncle Jacob had felt the need to lock him in a frog.
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Rustin wasn’t being very forthcoming with the information.
I hurried past him, into my bathroom, where I put soap onto the wet paper towel and scrubbed my cheek until I was in danger of removing a layer of skin cells along with the frog pee.
“What are you doing here, then? Standing there laughing isn’t helping at all.”
Rustin shrugged. “I was bored. Your life is generally good for a few laughs. I’m happy to report that this morning has been no exception.”
I barely resisted zapping him with my almost worthless keeper magics. I pretty much had only enough umph in my zapper to curl someone’s hair or make them pee themselves.
Trust me when I tell you I’d had enough of making stuff pee for the day.
Flinging the soiled paper towel into the trash, I glared at him. “I’m so glad I could entertain.”
“Me too.” His grin never wavered.
A part of me was happy to see it. I’d been so worried that Rustin would lose his humanity because of his enforced incarceration in the frog. But his cousin Maude and his very powerful Aunt Madeline had been working on reversing the spell. They hadn’t managed yet to free him. But they’d created a metaphysical barrier between Mr. Slimy’s ─ a.k.a. the frog’s ─ consciousness and Rustin’s so he could maintain his power, brain capacity, and humanity…basically his soul.
That was as good a result as we could have hoped for under the circumstances.
Even though that meant, as Mr. Slimy’s unhappy owner, I was also the temporary owner of an ethereally handsome and snarky witch who was stuck inside a frog.
And you thought I was kidding about the challenges of my life.
The bell jangled downstairs in my book store and I glanced at my stuck amphibian.
“Ribbit.” His sticky tongue snapped out and snagged a massive fly that had tried to make a break for the window above the sink.
Sucker!
I looked at Rustin. “Keep an eye on the fat, green bus. I have to go see who’s downstairs.”