BloodMoon

by Drew VanDyke

  The guy had a point. Con Shelby had tried his magic first, and I was enjoying him getting the best of the vampire, really. Jackson insisted Shelby was a necessary evil – okay, he said necessary part – of the supernatural order, but I still didn’t like him. Maybe a bit of discomfiture and comeuppance would teach the fang some humility, which was something he could dearly use. Even a lion could get gored by a wildebeest now and then.

  Shelby raised his voice. “Let he who has never sinned cast the first stone.”

  “I cast only the second stone. Get thee behind me, Satan.”

  The crowd was growing. If Shelby wanted to de-escalate, he was going about it the wrong way. He seemed to realize that, so he saved what face he could by tipping his hat, turning on his heel and striding off.

  I saw Elle talking on her cell phone, and it wasn’t more than a minute before two bicycle cops showed up and got Willoughby to leave, first on the basis that he was on private property and the First Amendment didn’t apply, and secondly that he was creating a public nuisance. It’s nice to be part of the government at times like these, but the whole thing still made me uncomfortable. People should have a right to protest, even if we didn’t like what they said. But it was out of my hands. Whatever the cops told him, he eventually packed up and left.

  With the crowd dispersing, Will started kissing me again, and okay, I kissed back. It looked like it was going to be an athletic night for both of us. That was one thing about Will’s new status that I had to adjust to – boundless energy in bed. And I mean boundless. Good thing I was a were-girl, or I’d never have been able to keep up.

  A cough brought us back to ourselves as we realized that the SUV had pulled up beside us, and Elle and JR were grinning out the window. Amber just looked annoyed. But I guess that’s what happens when you’re in a high-visibility position in the local government. No PDA in front of the unwashed masses.

  “So, what did you think of cruising Main Street?” Elle asked JR as we buckled up and headed for home.

  “I think it’s cool. It’s just like American Graffiti, only not in ancient times,” JR pronounced with the pompous gravity only a child can muster, to which the whole car erupted in laughter.

  From the mouths of babes, I thought, and though I was still a bit miffed at Will’s lack of control, I scooted into his arms and wrapped myself in his newfound passion, trying not to worry about what the future would hold.

  Though I did tell myself to have a conversation with the Con-man later.

  Chapter 6

  “Hey, I’ve enchanted this new tea tree salt scrub for your feet, and get this: the key ingredients include seaweed and microscopic fish scales. Wanna try it?” Amber asked, a little bit too over-eager to employ me as a guinea pig for her budding magical skills. “I used it myself.”

  I have to admit her feet looked perfect, and I do have the worst calluses that build up on my paws and I didn’t have the money for a weekly pedicure right now, so hell, spell away. “Yeah, sure, why not. Oh and how are you doing with that familiar communication spell? Siegfried’s bugging the crap out of me because you won’t talk to him.”

  “I won’t talk to him because he’s supposed to be a gosh-darned poodle. And I’m afraid if I start hearing him in my head I won’t know how to block it, and won’t that be kinda creepy hearing his voice all the time, just another one to add to the peanut gallery, and before you know it I’ll be looking like a crazy person talking to my dog. Oh, and then I’ll have to tell Elle, and she really likes that dog, but I think this one might tip her right over the edge.”

  Amber’s verbal vomit ran on and on, and I just gave her space and let her rant. Hey, it was the least I could do. Especially since a part of me wanted to dance around pointing fingers. I already told her that the sooner she tells Elle about Siegfried the better. Better she deal with reality as it is than get caught in a big fat lie when the illusion shatters. I thought she’d learned that with Mervin, but hey, we all do stupid things.

  Who am I to judge, right? I had my own sins to atone for and I was sure I’d be eating my words soon enough. Make a pronouncement about who you are and the universe gives you the opportunity to show what you’re made of.

  “Not to mention that I keep having these recurring nightmares where everywhere I turn I see Jeanetta Macdonald staring back at me.”

  “What, like that Denzel Washington movie where he was up against that demon who kept jumping from person to person?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Have you looked in that cookbook for a potion against nightmares?” I asked.

  “Like that’s not the first place I tried. I may have to break down and go to Bell, Book and Candle. Oh, and if anybody sees me and asks, I’m going to pretend to be you.”

  Bell, Book and Candle was a mystical shop that stocked herbs, crystals, incense and a whole slew of books on obscure religions. I’d tried to go in a few times, but between magick allergies and the myriad bouquet of essential oils that made my eyes water, I’d had to escape the overstimulation of my senses before it left me hacking up a fur ball on the manicured lawn. Like many of the downtown shops in Knightsbridge, it was once somebody’s home, from the time when people didn’t mind living their whole lives on the main thoroughfare. Privacy wasn’t such an issue back then, I guess, and people used to sit on their front porches and socialize.

  “Why am I going to BBC again? We ought to keep our stories straight.”

  “I don’t know. I’ll make something up.”

  “Christ, Amber. I have enough of my own sins to atone for; don’t make me responsible for yours.”

  And my twin sister did it. That’s right, she snorted. Wish I could have captured it on video.

  Anyway, we sat down on the edge of her garden tub and Amber slathered this fishy-herbal-flowery smelling stuff on my feet. She bent over with a pumice stone doing something I normally wouldn’t think to do myself, and I realized that this was what family was all about. The simple things – moments together full of resonance. Where even the tiniest deed like a foot rub can make me tear up, or maybe that was the fish scales. Or the enchantment.

  Still, when the pack came back I was deliriously happy. It appeared that not only could Siegfried communicate with me, but the lycanthropes understood him as well. I had no idea why. I gathered that neither magic nor magick was always logical.

  So when Amber decided to hold an afternoon tea and registration-packet-stuffing party for the Street Witches, my offer to help was in hopes that I could figure out how to move Amber forward with her familiar communication spell, and also see if there was a way to get Siegfried out of my head. After all, daemon though he might be, there was something about him that didn’t always scream dog. And that was just freaky.

  Amber decided on a cream silk blouse and pressed linen trousers for the event, and for once let me raid her closet. I decided on a summer-slipping-to-fall-toned lapel vest over a coral tube top and white cotton culottes with matching boat shoes. The Street Witches wore everything from Stevie Nicks black flowing numbers to peasant skirts and pirate shirts to spandex, denim, daisy dukes and straw cowboy hats.

  Now, even though we saw men as part of the Street Witches on Main Street, it soon became apparent that this gathering was entirely of females, or at least it appeared so. I wasn’t about to check everyone for Adam’s apples. Amber didn’t seem to have much use for men in her everyday life.

  Anyway, all the scents and excess magic dust swirling off of the Street Witches made my normally sensitive nose unreliable. Even Amber had a moment of distress and had to go retreat to the bedroom for her inhaler, while I did the unthinkable and opened all of the windows in the house and I ran the air conditioning at the same time. But hey, asthma and allergy attacks are no fun.

  When the attending witches realized what was happening, they decided that it would be best if they began the gathering by calling the corners. Said it would calm the mystical energies in the atmosphere that tended to get stirred up when a lot
of witches gathered in one place. They did this by calling us into a circle – okay, it was more of an oval – and spinning a beer bottle. Elle had left enough of those in the recycling bin and it turned out to be quite effective.

  The presiding witch, who asked us to call her Sister Lena, strode into the circle wearing an emerald bustier and corset barely covering her massive and impressive torso, and a rich burgundy tea-length skirt obscuring black combat boots. Holding her gnarled Bo-Peep staff with shining threads cobwebbing a ruby crystal, she spun around in an incantation.

  “Namaste and Blessed Be,” she said, and we all answered.

  “The first thing we do at the start of every gathering is we take care of logistics. Do we have needs, concerns, prayers or offerings to the Goddess this afternoon?” At which point, hands were raised, support was requested and, surprisingly, it wasn’t much different from a praise service crossed with a prayer meeting.

  “With these in mind,” Sister Lena said when the preliminaries were complete, “let us sing.”

  As one they raised their voices and began chanting songs I later found out were called things like “Cauldron of Changes,” “Earth, Air, Fire, Water” and “Sisters of the Moon.” I became caught up in it. There weren’t many places in Christendom where the Divine Feminine was extolled and it did my heart good to remember that I was a chip off the sacred block.

  When the last notes of song dissipated, Sister Lena spoke, “Let us call the corners,” and with her staff she spun the bottle.

  “Sister Bertrille,” she said, and I fought back a snort. Sister Bertrille was the name of the Flying Nun. Obviously Bertrille’s mother had a sense of humor, or maybe she just liked the classic TV show. People used to tell Amber and me that we looked a bit like Sally Field, especially when we were younger; I sure hoped we aged as well.

  “Come Element of the East, we call you. Arise, oh spirit of the East, whose color is yellow like that of the rising sun and the sunflowers that open to meet the day. Come place of new beginnings, refresh us as we gather. Welcome East.”

  “Welcome East,” we all intoned.

  The bottle spun again. Another, Sister Nayala, stepped forward.

  It seemed witches really enjoyed emphasizing their sisterhood. Girl power!

  “Come Spirit of the North. Whose color rides in shades of green. Whose bounty speaks of death and rebirth, resurrect our hearts and minds. Let us maximize our time and potential as we gather. Welcome North.”

  “Welcome North,” we repeated. I looked over at my sister and I had to stop and take a breath. She was usually so high-strung, but tonight, she seemed at peace. And we hadn’t even drunk the kool-aid. I mean, the tea of tranquility.

  The bottle spun again and surprising, it stopped aimed toward me. Now, I wasn’t a witch, but I have seen the movie The Craft a few times, and so I stepped into the circle and went with it. I am a writer after all. Hell, I eat metaphors for breakfast.

  “Come Guardians of the Watchtowers of the West, we invoke you. Come blue tinged waters and deep azure skies, let the tempest be stilled and our emotions run deep under ebony stars. Come West.”

  Ebony stars would be dark, lupa, Siegfried thought at me from the garage. He must have pretty good hearing. Of course he did! He was a dog, or at least inhabited the body of one.

  Everyone’s a critic, I thought back at him and returned my attention to the matters at hand.

  “Come West,” the sisterhood of witches repeated and with shining eyes I stepped back into my space in the circle.

  My own sister shot daggers at me and I realized I might have made a serious error in judgment. Not my circle. Not my show. And I just stole it. But come on! What was I supposed to do, refuse? If she didn’t want me involved, why invite me?

  That was sisterhood for you too, the bad with the good.

  The bottle spun again and another sister claimed the stage and we welcomed the south, with its fiery reds and passionate fire, amazon warriors and keepers of the hearth. But all I could see was the fury in my sister’s eyes. Nothing like stealing your sister’s thunder in her own house. I winced and saw a storm cloud headed my way.

  After the circle, Amber laid out piles of paperwork with the Street Witches logo on everything to be stuffed into the registration packets. The witches began passing out iced teas to each other, along with snack plates of cucumber sandwiches and petit fours.

  Don’t muzzle the ox while she is threshing, I thought, then I took Sister Bertrille aside – hey I liked her name and at least she wasn’t wearing the wimple – and began quizzing her about familiars. Okay, well, I pretty much dumped the load onto her shoulders and begged for her help.

  “Can you please, please, please help my sister with the familiar communication spell, because I need to get that damn dog out of my head and right now, I’m the only one he’s talking to!”

  Sister Bertrille made the appropriate sympathy sounds, then told me that she would see what she could do. Before I knew it she pulled Sister Lena aside and whispered in her ear. A short while into the small talk and stuffing, Sister Lena turned to Amber and said, “I hear you have a standard poodle as a familiar. Siegfried, is it? Where is he?”

  “Oh, we put him and Spanky – that’s our miniature schnauzer – in the garage for the afternoon. They are so rambunctious and the last thing I need is to have these piles rearranged for us by the animals.”

  “Oh please, can we see him?” Sister Nayala asked, and a few of the other witches chimed in.

  “We’ve only heard of a few dog familiars, and a standard poodle is definitely a first for us,” Lena added.

  Guess we were having show and tell. It was about time.

  Amber squinted her eyes at me over her reading glasses and then went to the garage door. “Spanky, no,” she said. “Siegfried, come.” And I heard the dog-thing trot over and follow her into the open space that flowed from the kitchen into the informal dining and family room. Amber kept her petite hand on his collar.

  “What a beautiful specimen,” Sister Lena commented and the rest of the witches oohed and ahhed.

  “He doesn’t behave very well, at least not yet. We just got him from the pound,”

  Amber said. “Siegfried, sit.”

  He did.

  Sister Lena raised her hand and the standard white poodle trotted over to her and sat at her feet. Without a treat. She looked into his eyes and I could feel the communication going on, but for once I was not privy to its contents, thank God. Give me my own head space for a bit.

  Lena looked at Amber and said quietly, “He says you haven’t done the familiar communication spell.”

  “Not yet.” Amber looked away and it suddenly dawned on me: she was scared to try. “I’m not scared,” she answered my unspoken comment. “I just. I guess, I mean, it feels like if I do this, then…”

  “There’s no going back,” I finished for her.

  “Yeah,” she said, and then shut down the bond.

  “And you’re afraid of…?” Sister Lena said.

  “What if someone finds out? What will I ever say?”

  “Whose business is it anyway?” I asked. “As long as you fly under the radar.”

  “Yes, but what about Rhonda?” she blurted.

  “Oh.” I’d forgotten about that. Our stepmom has a terrible history as a gossip. For a while there, after my Dad and she got married, it seemed that no matter what we talked about to her or even just Dad, it would suddenly be broadcast among the Scott clan or her own family, her daughters and siblings, with whom we had occasional contact. Eventually we learned only to share things with Dad and Rhonda if we didn’t mind it getting out. But with Rhonda involved with Street Witches, let’s just say the warning signs read “complicated.”

  “I bet Rhonda will have more to lose than you if she tells Dad. That’s why they moved out of California anyway, so they wouldn’t have to deal with us as much.”

  “You’re probably right,” Amber said, but she didn’t look convinced. She then
turned to Sister Lena and filled her in on our stepmother’s visit.

  “You know, if you’d like,” the head witch offered, “the Street Witches can keep your stepmother busy while she’s here. We have so many events, lectures, and activities, I bet we could fill her schedule so tight you’d hardly have to see her.”

  “See, Amber? No sweat,” I said. “I bet after the first day she’ll be dying to stay at the hotel so she doesn’t have to put up with our chaos. And you know the pack and I would be happy to provide a little chaos for you. You need any landscaping done? Or you could finally enlarge your walk-in closet and that would make the guest room a catchall for all your clothes in the meantime. I bet Darcy would give you a discount; she still works at California Closets.”

  “I have been wanting more shoe space,” she said wistfully.

  “See, now there you go,” I said, but I thought, between witches, werewolves and wardrobe, I think we’ve got you covered.

  “So, the familiar communication spell…” Sister Lena said.

  “And, once Amber does it, will I have my head to myself again?”

  Sister Lena looked at me with a sad face and said, “No, sorry, ducks. I’m afraid you’re stuck with him.” She shrugged. “It’s a dog thing.”

  Hey! How did she know? I thought, but I kept my mouth shut. Just another bullet point to add to “Ashlee’s list of things she should probably learn about.”

  Amber pulled Lena aside as I got down to cleaning up after the witches. They were soon trickling out the door to wherever the night was calling them.

  I heard the name Jeanetta Macdonald mentioned and pricked up my ears, sliding into a position I could see them. Sister Lena was speaking. “You know, we have sister witches who work in the prison system and it’s their job to keep the paranormals under control. We don’t talk about it much; it’s like the underside of witchcraft, having to deal with those who abuse their powers. But we suppress their magic with various means, often by drugs that are administered to them in their food.”