Wands Have More Fun

by Rebecca Regnier

  “Have you lost your faculties?”

  Again, Brule looked at me like I was unhinged. I was, a little, but in a good way.

  “No, I mean, no more than usual. I love the idea. What do you want to watch?”

  “I have researched it. I would like to catch up on a program entitled Mad Men. Or perhaps the one where they organize their homes?”

  “Marie Kondo?”

  “Yes, if that would be pleasant for you.”

  “It would.”

  Brule sat next to me and put out his arm. I found a comfortable position; it turned out my favorite spot was tucked at his side.

  And we watched Netflix, drank some wine, and chilled.

  Later, I’d take the time to ask him about why he’d chosen Widow’s Bay, centuries ago. For now, I was just content that he’d chosen me to hang out with tonight.

  The End

  Epilogue

  Consultant Suggestions for Talent Marzie Nowak

  Miss Nowak has a good grasp of the material. Her knowledge of her subject matter is impeccable. That is in her favor. After a review of her stories and her live reports here are the following suggestions:

  Marzie needs to smile more. Be warmer with the audience. It can be off-putting if a reporter is too serious all the time. We recommend practicing smiling, so it appears more natural. The smile must appear to come from the eyes, but in Miss Nowak’s case, it is important not to smile too broadly as the wrinkles she has will deepen. On the subject of wrinkles, Miss Nowak might consider Botox for her brow and perhaps parenthesis area that frames her mouth. A wrinkle in the brow can tend to make a person appear angry. It should be considered in Miss Nowak’s case.

  Miss Nowak needs to fill in her eyebrows. The eyebrows are the most important feature on the face to convey emotion. Miss Nowak’s eyebrows appear to be thinning, and she’ll need to fill them in to better communicate her emotional intent while giving her reports.

  Miss Nowak tends to talk rapidly. She needs to let each sentence breath a beat or two before delivering the next sentence. The reports she turns in also tend to be dense with information, so giving the reader/viewer a chance to process helps their comprehension. It would also help her to remember to aim her reports to a fifth grade reading level.

  Miss Nowak needs to engage the audience with language that references them. Try switching a line like this “Crews filling potholes on Main Street” into one that draws the viewer in, such as, “You’ll want to keep an eye out for pothole fillers as you drive on Main Street!”

  Miss Nowak has a rather deep voice. We recommend her lightening up her tone a bit to sound younger, more feminine, and approachable.

  Miss Nowak has a reliance on black clothing. Please add colors that pop to the mix! (See the link to our suggestions for wardrobe.)

  Overall, Miss Nowak is a competent reporter but does not give off the air of someone the viewer would want to be friends with or take out on a date. Her intelligence and serious demeanor need to be softened for maximum likeability.

  The above changes are important steps in making Miss Nowak appear more approachable. We’ll circle back with her after the changes are implemented. Please send additional examples of her Facebook Live reporting over the next three weeks.

  I stared at the email with my jaw open. And then my phone rang.

  “What in the heck is this?”

  “Yeah, about that.” It was Justin Lemorre, he sounded afraid, and based on the comments I’d just read about me he should be. I was not currently approachable.

  “When did they do this?” The report was straight out of television news consulting 101. It was a world I thought I left behind.

  “Well, after you started getting scooped by Man Cave Dot Net Garrett wanted to be sure we were doing everything possible to support you. The consultant is looking at the whole operation, not just Widow’s Bay, so don’t take it personally.”

  “Support me? Don’t take it personally? I need to smile but not with wrinkles! Garrett Dewitt hired me because I was seasoned. This is mid-market television corporate consulting cookie cutter crap! Also, it is impossible.” I had thought I’d left this type of thing behind when I was escorted off the anchor desk.

  “Dewitt wanted to bring big city newsroom ideas to our smaller operation, see if we can’t find room for improvement. Besides, it’s not that bad. They told our Escanaba stringer that his dark circles looked like two black eyes and recommended not showing his face for more than five seconds at a time.” Justin chuckled at the thought. I, however, was ready to throw something at him. He was lucky to be in a different city at that moment.

  “If you want me to get scoops, and beat Man Cave or MLive, or whatever you get me a staff here. You see how much news comes out of Widow’s Bay? That’s the kind of support I need.”

  “Look, I’ve actually got some good news.”

  “What?”

  “He’s coming to see you.”

  “Who?”

  “Garrett DeWitt, he’s touring all the offices, and you’re on the list!” Garrett DeWitt had met via Skype, and that was it. The idea that the owner of Your U.P. News was coming up here to check up on me had me worried and annoyed. I put two and two together, and it equaled me subtracted from my job.

  “I get this list of how I suck, and now the big boss is coming. If you’re going to fire me, can you just do it now? The phone is fine.”

  “He’s not coming to fire you. He’s touring like I said. Make your pitch for a staff to him.”

  “Fine, and Justin?”

  “What?”

  “Tell the stinking consultants I’m Ms. Nowak.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Also, how does he like his coffee? At least I can have the K-cups stocked with his favorite.”

  “Now, you’re talking!”

  “When’s he coming?”

  “Yeah, no idea on the date. He’s going to be surprising people.”

  “Great.” He ended the call.

  I crumpled up the list of helpful consultant suggestions and threw it in the trash.

  “Eyebrows? What’s wrong with my eyebrows?” I rubbed them with my index finger. I pulled out a compact from my purse and looked at my unfriendly face. I focused on the eyebrows, and there it was. Was that a gray hair? In my eyebrow?

  Great.

  A few hours after I learned that I’d have to be ready for a surprise inspection from my big boss, another surprise exploded in my lap.

  When people said you shouldn’t be tied to your phone, I can usually peg them as non-parents. No matter where or when my phone rattled with the name Sam or Joe on the caller i.d., I raced to pick it up. My sons did not make it a point to call me often, so when they did, I treated it like it was a 911 and answered fast.

  “Hey, mom!” It was Sam Junior and Joe, The Twins, as they were called in our house and at their school growing up.

  They were finishing their freshman year at Michigan State. They lived together, and though they were twins, they were about as different as two wombmates could be.

  When I dropped them off at Armstrong Hall with extra-long twin sheets and their laptops, I was bereft, but I figured it out, this empty nest thing. I’d even survived the holidays with them going to their dad’s. I had not been hurt or sad that a six-hour trip to the Upper Peninsula wasn’t usually in the cards for them this year.

  It hadn’t killed me.

  “Last exam tomorrow!!” Joe, my outgoing son exclaimed.

  “I’m hoping for a four-point this semester.” Sam Junior, my more sensitive worrier, was true to form.

  Sam Junior had his dad’s classic All-American good looks, and Joe had dark hair and looked a little more like me. Though my marriage to their dad ended, I had begun to look at the time I’d spent as a wife and working mother a huge success. I’d carved out a career and had been the best mom I could be. I’d begun to be more forgiving, in my thoughts about Sam Senior.

  Thanks to that marriage, I have Sam Junior and Joe. It
wasn’t all bad.

  “How about you, Joe? How’d that English class go?” Joe was the math whiz, reading a book, and writing an essay was torture.

  “Ugh, frigging done. I will not be having a four-point thanks to that ratchet essay on the hero’s journey. I did not do well. How is that related to supply chain management? Yeah, it’s not.” Joe was outraged, and I am sure he would easily shake it off. It was his gift. He had the ability to things weigh lightly, and then move on.

  “How’s the house coming,” Sam asked. I had slowly transformed my house from something my mom thought was chic in the 1980s to something I loved, for me. They’d been here for winter breaks or summer fun trips when they were kids. I suspect they wouldn’t recognize it now.

  “Great, I have a good crew of contractors working here. The first floor is pretty well done, this summer though, time to tackle a lot outside.”

  “On that, we’ve got big news,” said Joe.

  “Yeah?” They were maybe going to visit at some point this summer, but both had plans to go to their dad’s in Detroit. If you wanted a good internship or summer job at a big company, Widow’s Bay was not the first place you looked, or the second, or ever.

  “We’re coming up!” Joe announced brightly.

  “What?”

  “Yeah, both of us decided, we coming to stay with you this summer,” Joe explained. I was taken aback a little. I had already accepted the fact that I wasn’t going to see them much, even in the summer. And then this?

  “Jo, I thought you were working at that GM internship? And Sam, what about that thing at WXYD?” Sam Junior had expressed some interest in journalism, like his parent’s. And WXYD was the biggest best place to learn if you were in Michigan. His dad got him a summer gig there. It was all settled.

  “Yeah, the thing is, we both feel like Detroit isn’t home anymore,” Sam’s tone was a little melancholy. As though he was grappling with the idea that you can’t go home again. Except I did. They could. I felt sad that their break from their suburban childhood was so complete.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We mean, you’re home, mom. Wherever you are.” This was from Joe, my less sensitive twin. I tried not to gasp with the emotion that his sweet statement produced.

  I felt a warm glow. I had done a good job. My boys missed me! This was wonderful!

  And then, I started to think about how much had happened in my life since my sons lived with me. As much as I loved seeing them, talking to them, and being their mom, I was all of sudden terrified. How would they handle the idea that their mom, was a real-life coven meeting, broomstick riding, wand-wielding witch?

  I tried injecting a little harsh reality into the conversation.

  “That’s very sweet, but what about jobs? I don’t have anchorwoman money these days.”

  “Oh, we’re all set!” Sam reassured me. All set? They had jobs lined up?

  “And honestly, Bubba Smith is probably so sick of females with you and Agnes up in his grill,” Bubba Smith really was the boy’s dog. I flashed to all the times they cuddled up with the bear of a canine and blinked away the sentimentality that threatened to cloud the issue.

  “Oh, he’s fine, I mean he likes the tutus we dress him in now.”

  “Bubba! We’re coming to save you!” Joe yelled into the phone.

  “Are you sure, I mean, won’t your dad be, uh, sad?” I was grasping at straws here now.

  “Dad? Yeah, I think he’ll be fine,” Sam said. There was an unfamiliar edge to his voice.

  “What about all your stuff? How are you getting here? Do I need to come down there and help you pack up?”

  “We’re fine, just going to load the truck after we post game,” Joe said.

  “The truck? What truck? What game?” I would have a lot of explaining to do if they showed up in Widow’s Bay. I may not be their version of home once they saw me sitting at a cauldron.

  “He just means post exam bash kind of thing. And we bought a truck from a buddy, it’s sweet. Parked off campus ready for us for next year!” Freshman at Michigan State weren’t allowed to have cars. But sophomores could, apparently, they’d taken the initiative on that and were all set.

  “Love you, mom, gotta go! See you soon!” Joe said, and he was off the line.

  “Yeah! Tell Bubba we’re on the way to save his hairy butt. Love you, mom.” And Sam ended the call.

  They were on the way? They had a truck?

  I had no real idea when they were going to show up on my doorstep with expectations and laundry.

  I assessed my situation. I had a boss about to surprise me and twin sons about to surprise me. How in the world was I going to keep it a secret that Widow’s Bay was exactly as billed? It was a haven for witches, a breeding ground for vampires, and a home base for all manner of shifter?

  Did I have to warn them about the Travelers and Trolls? Did I need to caution them to look both ways for Bear Shifters? Did they need to learn not to take candy from a vampire?

  The slight panic that had begun to simmer at the thought of Garrett Dewitt showing up at my little office of Your U.P. News was nothing to the rolling boil at the thought of my son’s showing up to find their mother, uh, witching it up.

  “You’re looking rather green. Time to find a more forgiving foundation.”

  “Agnes, not now. I’m having a panic attack.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “Do you think I need Botox?”

  “That’s an unqualified yes.”

  “Ugh.” Why had I asked her that? I had forgotten who I was talking to.

  “Also, a tummy tuck.”

  “Agnes, The Twins are coming here for the summer.” Agnes stopped, mid-saunter, and turned back to fix me with her haughty gaze.

  “There will be house rules. No leaving stinky laundry on Bubba. No walking around in underwear. No pizza boxes in the kitchen garbage. No taking Bubba out hunting. No feeding Bubba pig ears, uh, the gas.”

  “Well, quite a list.”

  “It’s also non-negotiable. That’s my dining room, not the place where they leave backpacks.”

  “Well, I’m glad to see you’re welcoming them with open arms.”

  “Pshaw, I love Sam and Joe. But do pass along the house rules.”

  Agnes left me to my burgeoning panic attack.

  Maybe there was a spell I could do that kept the magical aspects of my life cloaked? What if there wasn’t? Or maybe I could do all the magic away from home? They didn’t need to see it? If they did see it, would they freak? I did, at first.

  And then I thought of my coven. They all had adult children too. How were they handling it? They’d have advice, they’d be able to help me figure this out. I wasn’t the first witch to have to explain herself. Though that usually did end up in barbecued witch when it didn’t go well.

  I’d figure it out, somehow. I took a deep breath, and then another. I would show Garrett Dewitt how a good reporter works. I’d convince him to hire a photographer for me. I’d even scoop Man Cave Dot News while he was here. I could see it now! It was going to be fine. I wasn’t’ afraid of my boss. I’d faced vampire attacks and troll uprisings. I could handle a rich guy who owned a small online news organization for goodness sake.

  And The Twins were good boys, they loved me, they loved the Upper Peninsula, it would be fine. I wasn’t afraid of them either. Though I was afraid of the laundry they’d bring, that was a good point Agnes brought up.

  I calmed down. I was okay. It would all be okay.

  Agnes walked back in and dropped a fun little truth bomb.

  “Do the boys know you’re dating an ancient French vampire?”

  No, no, they did not. I had forgotten about that.

  The panic returned that my empty nest was about to get crowded!

  Up Next - Curse Strings

  Widow’s Bay Book Five

  A Note From Rebecca

  I hope you enjoyed Wands Have More Fun. Consider leaving a review on Amazon. It’s the best
way for readers to discover new books and authors.

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  You met Savanah in Resting Witch Face and in Coven Mitt. In Late Broomers she shows up again at a critical moment! Her story is just starting! I’m writing a romance in Widow’s Bay starring Savanah. Just sign up for my newsletter and I’ll email you a free sneak peek. If you like Twilight or Bella Forest Cold Moon - A Widow’s Bay Romance is for you! Plus you’ll be the first to know about new releases, and special deals on my books.

  Thank you and see you back in Widow’s Bay for Book Five - Curse Strings!

  Sincerely,

  Rebecca Regnier

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  About the Author

  Rebecca Regnier is an award winning newspaper columnist and former television news anchor. She lives in Michigan with her husband and sons.

  rebeccaregnier.com