Wands Have More Fun

by Rebecca Regnier

  “She was alone. She’d locked the door behind her. And she was drinking her morning coffee?” I restated to make sure I knew what Miss Florine was doing before she died.

  “Yeah, that’s pretty much the situation.”

  “The official position of the WBPD is that this death is suspicious? Does it rise to the level of foul play?”

  “When an otherwise healthy woman drops dead while drinking her coffee and turns purple? I suppose so. And I’m not an expert, I’d say it was arsenic. A slight garlic smell is a tip off.”

  “Oh, my God!”

  “Yeah, that’s not for print. Just write that nothing is being ruled out at this time.”

  Except he’d just said arsenic. From everything I’d heard, that was a tough but fast way to go. Poor Miss Florine’s last dance was likely painful and ugly.

  My heart went out to her and her daughter.

  I had what I needed for the story but knew it would probably just get uglier from here.

  Chapter 2

  Filing the story took the bulk of my workday. I found pictures, old stories with Miss Florine, and educated myself a bit on her qualifications. She was a premier teacher, and, for this small town, that was great.

  It was a loss if dance was your kid’s passion.

  I finished my depressing day of newsgathering and was looking forward to dinner with my coven, the new breed of Distinguished Ladies of Widows’ Bay.

  We’d known each other since elementary school, but it was now, in our forties, that the bonds we shared had deepened. They grew richer with each coffee we shared, spell we cast, and snowstorm we weathered. Or maybe it was only as I’d aged that I’d realized how unique it was to find people on this planet you didn’t want to punch in the throat.

  I showed up at the Frog Toe, and slowly, my crew of over the hill witches arrived. We may be north of forty, more or less, but I marveled at each one of my friends’ unique beauty, and power.

  Fawn, the town veterinarian, was looking gorgeous. Her work required jeans and a lot of animal hair, but she looked fresh and exactly like the indigenous princess I’d been shown in an ancient vision. Her long dark hair didn’t have even a sliver a gray, whereas mine was invading my forehead like the Allies at Normandy.

  “How're things?”

  “Busy, furry, you know the drill.”

  I heard Tatum yell to Mario that he had to bartend for the next bit while she took a break.

  Mario was a vampire bouncer who was good at mixing a drink. He was a dual-purpose Yooper Natural. If the crowd got rough, Mario was there to be sure Tatum was safe. It made me feel good about her working late into the night, especially when the nights were likely getting more dangerous around town.

  Tatum sported the edgiest bob haircut you ever saw. Her hair was getting more silver than blonde lately, but her tightly packed wire and sinew didn’t read grandma: it read badass.

  Pauline and Candy arrived at the same time. They worked together more than any of us. They both had the aim of bettering Widow’s Bay and had dedicated their considerable talents to it.

  Pauline’s line was real estate and fitness, Candy’s was politics. Pauline had the advantage of gorgeous skin combined with a fanatic devotion to working out. Her main style was, of course, athleisure, but she made it look pulled together, chic. Angela Bassett had nothing on her.

  Candy was a pulled together, serious politician. While Tatum’s bob was a sexy mess, Candy’s blonde bob didn’t move unless she instructed it to. Her chosen career’s fashion requirements reminded me the most of my old role as a news anchor. She was always buttoned up, coordinated, smoothed down; those were all things I used to have to be. As a small-town online news reporter, I had been able to let go of that anchorwoman look and did not miss it, at all.

  Finally, Georgianne arrived with a bag of books as usual. She was the only redhead among us. Her wavy copper hair was pulled up onto the top of her head in a messy bun. Nine times out of ten, her glasses were on her head, and her head was in a book. She was the tallest of us, with long limbs and a keen mind. Her life’s work was books. She contributed to the town in her own way, by storing its history and unearthing it when it was needed most.

  We’d all been married, divorced or widowed in the last few years. We had children that were grown but now careers that were blossoming. And we’d discovered that the magical town we grew up in needed our brand of spells to thrive. Just as we’d discovered, we needed each other to thrive. In this moment, for a moment. I was perfectly content to listen to the chatter, the greetings, the complaints, the gossip among us. It had become music to my ears, and I’d also learned that calm contentment wasn’t the norm in Widow’s Bay.

  “I’ve got a whole new wrinkle.” Georgianne sat down and put her heavy bag, filled with ancient books, down next to her on the floor.

  We’d recruited a lot of witches to our coven, The Distinguished Ladies Club, and we’d done a lot of good. I wouldn’t say we’re novices, but each day there was another layer to the powers we had and the magic we could conjure. It fell to us to teach the larger group, guide it, and contain it when things got rowdy.

  “What now?” Candy asked. She had a million things going as the town’s new mayor.

  “We’re up to speed on broom flying, spell casting, time stopping, and psychic connections, what more could we need on the witch front?” Tatum asked, listing our recent skill acquisitions.

  “Wands.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Candy said.

  “Nope, I found this.” She pulled out a huge, leather-bound book. The pages were thick and ragged inside the dusty binding.

  Georgianne’s store, The Broken Spine, was the repository of our history, knowledge, and recipes for cheesy potatoes.

  “This is a Grimoire.”

  “A what?” Pauline asked.

  “A Grimoire, it’s like the directions or list of instructions for magic and witches.”

  We’d learned most of our magic from Aunt Dorothy, or by complete accident. An operational manual would have been nice when we were flying arse over elbows on our brooms.

  “We need wands,” Georgianne said.

  “There it is, that last bit of nuts,” I blurted out.

  “Right? I’m not sure voters will go for a wand-wielding, green-skinned, wart-nosed style witch,” Candy said, and I nodded in agreement.

  “Haha,” Georgianne replied. “No, this wand stuff is fascinating. It’s not like the movies or whatever, there are specific rules and limitations.”

  “What? They have a wand section at Kohls? Because I have some Kohl’s Cash to spend!” I added, and Pauline gave me a high five.

  “Shh. I want to hear this,” Fawn said, and we piped down. If any of us was in tune to new magic and what it meant, it was Fawn.

  “No, the wand is the last totem of power that we, as a group, have no clue about,” Georgianne explained.

  “Great,” Candy said. She did not like having no clue in any area, much less no clue about power.

  “It’s not something you go get either; it’s something you have to make yourself,” Georgianne continued.

  “I suck at crafting, if there’s a hot glue gun involved, I’m in trouble.” Which was true. I was bad a crafting anything but sentences.

  “Look, there’s something about virgin wood, and the type of trees you need, and length. There’s nothing about glue, so that’s good.” Georgianne was excited, no question, about the treasure trove of information she’d unearthed in her Grimoire.

  “Virgin wood?” Pauline asked and raised an eyebrow.

  “I have a lot to look up about this, but I think we’re going to need to have wands. I just feel it.”

  None of us were psychic, specifically, but we all had premonitions at times and dreams. And heck, half the women I knew could feel trouble coming, witch or not.

  “Figure out some of the details, and we’ll have a wand craft night,” I said, and it was agreed.

  “It could be like
one of those painting parties. We’ll have wine!” Tatum added, and the wine idea mollified the notion that I’d have to paint something or carve something or whatever we had to do to get wands.

  “Is there anything in there on how they actually work?”

  Fawn brought up a good point. Did you just whittle one and, if you were a witch, they worked?

  “Well, as you can see, there are at lest three grimoires here on the subject. And they’re in Latin. I’m going to have to Google Translate the heck out of it.”

  “No hurry, we’re fine without wands for now. Oh, what now?” Pauline was distracted by her phone and stepped away from the table to take the call.

  “How are the patrols going?” Candy asked me. I was the one who most frequently talked to Etienne Brule, the boss of the vampires in Widow’s Bay.

  “I guess okay, I haven’t seen him much lately.”

  It was true. There was a point where he was my shadow, and I had gotten used to seeing him at night. He’d made a habit of checking in, to help me figure out the many new aspects of my life. But since a new ancient vampire entered the picture, Alvarado—or Tonat as he called himself in the modern age—Brule spent most nights on patrol, making sure evil wasn’t seeping into Widow’s Bay. Alvarado vs. Brule was a full-time job for him.

  “You haven’t? Maybe he’s got a new girlfriend?” Tatum teased me a little.

  “That’s probably fine. I don’t date, much less date vampires. I’m no Bella Swan.” Brule and I had kissed, a couple of times, and I had to admit he was larger than life and easy to have a crush on. If a woman of my age could have crushes. I was fulfilled in life, in most areas, thank you very much. I didn’t need to add dating to my life. I just wasn’t ready for that.

  “Too bad,” Fawn chimed in on the teasing.

  “Last time I checked we were all single. Don’t make me set up online dating profiles for all of you.” Tatum was threatening us with Tinder now, great.

  “Yeah, I can see yours now: likes brewing magic potions will rip your head off if you buy her a birthday present, guarded by a leather-clad bloodsucker, must be willing to travel to the northern tip of the universe,” Candy described Tatum to hilarious effect.

  “Okay, okay. Mine wouldn’t look much better. Must like smell of dog poop,” Fawn said.

  “Or in my case, dust mite positive.” Georgianne closed the book she’d found the wand information on cue and the dust exploded in a little puff.

  “Ah, as fun as this is, I have to get going. Huge day of stuff tomorrow,” Candy said. We all agreed; it was time to call it a night. We were all usually early to work and late home, and it was past nine on a weeknight.

  Pauline walked back over to our table.

  “Everything okay?” Candy asked her. Usually, trouble for Pauline was trouble for Candy.

  “No, we’re missing a judge now.”

  “Ugh,” Candy replied.

  “Municipal or County?” I asked.

  “No, no. A judge for the pageant. We have to have at least five judges if we want our pageant to be a qualifier for the state competition,” Pauline explained.

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll find someone.” I waved off the concern.

  “Thanks for the brews, Tatum, excellent as usual,” Fawn said, and we all added our thanks.

  “Yep, tell your friends. Mario, look over there. Is that troll grabbing the tips off of the tables?” And Tatum was back in work mode as we all went our separate ways to our cars.

  Chapter 3

  The place had been packed, and then had cleared out. I had to park in the far reaches of the Frog Toe parking lot. I wasn’t naïve, and I always had my guard up. I’d lived in the city for decades; I didn’t trust strangers. My small-town hauntings were a good reason to continue that practice. I walked to my vehicle with a brand-new keychain in a defensive position.

  I hit the unlock, and my Jeep lights blinked in answer. I started the engine with my fob as I closed in on my vehicle.

  I gasped and stopped in my tracks as my Jeep headlights illuminated motion, up ahead, at the edge of the parking lot.

  I took a slow step forward to decipher what it was I’d stumbled upon. I realized it was an attack-in-progress. My motherly instincts were stronger than my fear. I charged in.

  “No, I said!” The young woman was struggling against some jerk, trying to—what? Kiss her? Hug her? She was clearly not interested. What an ass!

  “Hey!” I yelled, not one to be shy if I thought someone needed a little help at the end of a bad date.

  The man who was too clingy and too stupid to take no for an answer looked up and straight into the headlight beam.

  His eyes were wrong, red, and his teeth were long-ish.

  It was a vampire attack-in-progress!

  I ran toward her. I had no clear plan; I just knew I could interrupt the attack and give the woman a chance to run.

  I’d never seen a vampire attack from this angle. And no wonder they could pull this crap off. It almost looked like a dance, an embrace. But I knew the truth because I’d been on the receiving end. She was fighting, and that was good. If the vampire had his teeth into her too far; she’d already be half asleep.

  “Hey! Shoo!”

  I literally just told some sort creature of the night to shoo.

  Then I realized I did have my brand-new keychain, a gift from Brule. I lifted it up and waved it around at the undead douchenozzle.

  “You see this! Get away!!” I brandished a rock dangling from the end of my keys. It was called a Yooperlite, a glowing rock, to the locals, but Brule said it was called a Clach Dearg. The rock had helped me before in a similar situation.

  Brule said the Clach Dearg could repel vampires, but truth be told, I’d smashed the rock on the head of my fanged attacker. I didn’t completely trust that it acted like garlic or holy water in the vampire repelling department.

  The vampire looked amused by my flailing, not in the least bit scared. I had no idea how this worked, but I had interrupted, and the vampire’s intended victim was smart enough to scramble backward.

  This vampire was different from the other ones I had encountered. Brule and Alvarado were suave in appearance, and their clothes were clearly from Europe. The North Face Vampire, who’d attacked Savanah, Fawn’s receptionist, was a college kid, no question, with his ripped jeans and outerwear. The North Face vampire was darkly handsome, but his clothes would have blended right into my sons’ closet.

  This guy had a dad bod. And his clothes were dad clothes. If Brule was a custom-tailored vampire, this one was a clearance rack at Walmart. It didn’t fit for a vampire. It gave me pause, but I had to move on from that observation. Pausing in this situation was a bad idea.

  “Run,” I yelled as the woman pulled away from The Dad Bod Vampire’s grip. I was concerned that one taste of her might be like a potato chip, and this vampire would be after a binge. Her best bet was to get far away while I had him distracted.

  I tried to act like a fish lure, all sparkly and interesting, and I kept my eyes on him. My plan helped the victim, but not me, because now I was in the crosshairs. Brilliant.

  I held up the Clach Dearg again. I stood my ground and squared my shoulders.

  “What the heck is that thing?” the vampire asked me, which confirmed again he was not the brightest vampire bulb in the evil undead ceiling lamp.

  “This is the Clach Dearg. It’ll kick your butt. You better leave this woman alone. You’re in deep trouble if Brule finds out you’re trying to feed without consent.”

  “Brule isn’t the boss of me.”

  “I said, leave this woman!” I puffed up my chest like I had the ability to summon more magic than I really knew how to do.

  I also shot a plea into the ether. I was able to summon Brule in times of trouble, or discord in town, but sometimes those messages were less reliable than cell service out here.

  Plus waiting for help was never my strong suit. Still, I sent out an S.O.S. in hopes I’d get an assis
t with this vampire. I’d run into hungry ones before, and it usually didn’t end well.

  I looked again at him and wondered who dressed this guy. Khaki pants, white tennis shoes, and a Detroit Red Wings hockey jersey. It didn’t speak of ancient evil; it was more typical of the guy in front of you in line at Home Depot.

  Shoot, did that mean some new vampire had gotten through Brule’s patrol around the town?

  “I’m hungry, and you’re just as warm as this one. It’s no difference to me. Though you are a little old.”

  “Hey!” Now I was getting insults from The Dad Bod Vampire, great.

  The vampire took a step toward me. The movement that freaked me right out since it was fast and ugly, and clearly aimed toward catching prey. I got the impression that his dad bod was good camouflage for sharp fangs and dull misogyny. I was running out of options.

  He was now an arm’s length away, and I was pondering how the heck I could get in my car. The Clach Dearg stone seemed incredibly tiny all of a sudden. How was it going to slow him down, and for how long? I raised it up like I’d seen in vampire movies, but it looked and felt ridiculous. The Dad Bod Vampire decided my little jewel was worth testing. I hoped the woman he’d tried to feed off appreciated my sacrifice.

  “Not so fast.” A familiar voice was right behind me, at my shoulder. I knew it was Grady Shook before I even looked.

  “Ah, dog breath.” The vampire looked from me to Grady, who was in hot lumberjack form, but apparently, this vampire knew right away that Grady was part guard dog.

  “You get out of here—out of town—now, and I won’t rip your throat out.”

  The Dad Bod Vampire looked from me to Grady and off in the direction toward where the original late-night snack had run. I practically saw the vampire weigh the idea of sticking with me or heading out to the where the girl had run.

  He decided, in an instant, and we watched him switch directions and head for the easier prey.

  “Crap, we gotta go help her,” I said and took off as fast as my indoor cycling muscles could carry me. Grady followed my lead.