"First of all, we didn't sleep. And how in the hell was I supposed to know Mr. Sexy Pants was her boyfriend?"
"Um, well, let me see… did the fact that he was wearing a Property of Baba Yaga t-shirt not ring any fucking bells?"
I was so done. I'd been stuck in a cell with Sassy the Destructive Witch for nine months—sawing my own head off with a butter knife had become a plausible option. I was beyond ready to get the hell out.
"Well, it’s not like the Council put you in here just to keep me company. You ran over your own familiar. On purpose," she accused.
I watched in horror as she combed her bangs forward in preparation for blast off and willed myself not to give a rat’s ass.
"I did not run over that mangy bastard cat on purpose. The little shit stepped under my wheel."
"Three times?" she inquired politely.
"Yes."
We glared at each other until we were both biting back grins so hard it hurt. As much as I didn't like her, I was grateful to have had a roomie. It would have sucked to serve time alone. And coming up with different female names that started with the letter S had helped pass the time.
"I really need a mirror to do this right," Sassy muttered. She mimed the cutting action by lining up her fingers up on her hair before she commenced.
I walked to the iron bars of our cell and refused to watch. Our tiny living quarters were barren of all modern conveniences, especially those we could perform magic with, like mirrors. We were locked up in Salem, Massachusetts in a hotel from the early 1900s that had been converted to a jail for witches. Our home away from home was cell block D, designated for witches who abused their magic as easily as they changed their underwear.
From the outside the decrepit building was glamoured to look like a charming bed and breakfast, complete with climbing ivy and flowers growing out of every conceivable nook and cranny. Inside it was cold and ugly with barren brick walls covered with Goddess knew what kind of slime. It was warded heavily with magic, keeping all mortals and responsible magic-makers away. At the moment the lovely Sassy and I were the only two inhabitants in the charming hell-hole. Well, us and the humor-free staff of older than dirt witches and warlocks.
I dropped onto my cot and ran my hands through my mass of uncontrollable auburn curls which looked horrid with the orange prison wear. I puckered my full—and sadly lipstick-free-lips as I tried to image myself in the latest Prada. The first damn thing I was going to do when I got out was burn the jumpsuit and buy out Neiman’s.
"Fine. We're both here because we messed up, but I still think nine months was harsh for killing a revolting cat and screwing an idiot," I muttered as the ugly reality of my outfit mocked me.
I held my breath and then blew it out as Sassy put the scissors down and changed her mind.
"I can’t do this right now. I really need a mirror."
It was the most sane thing she'd uttered in nine months.
"In an hour you'll have one unless you do something stupid," I told her and then froze.
Without warning the magic level ramped up drastically and the stench of centuries-old voodoo drifted to my nose. Sassy latched onto me for purchase and shuddered with terror.
"Do you smell it?" I whispered. I knew her grip would leave marks, but right now that was the least of my problems.
"I do," she murmured back.
"Old lady crouch."
"What?" Her eyes grew wide and she bit down on her lip. Hard. "If you make me laugh, I'll smite your sorry ass when we get out. What the hell is old lady crouch?"
My own grin threatened to split my face. My fear of incarceration was clearly outweighed by my need to make crazy Sassy laugh again. "You know—the smell when you go to the bathroom at the country club...powdery old lady crouch."
"Oh my hell, Zelda." She guffawed and lovingly punched me so hard I knew it would leave a bruise. "I won't be able to let that one go."
"Only a lobotomy can erase it." I was proud of myself.
"Well, well, well," a nasally voice cooed from beyond the bars of our cell. "If it isn't the pretty-pretty problem children."
Baba Yaga had to be at least three hundred if she was a day, but witches aged slowly—so she really only looked thirty-fiveish. The more powerful the witch, the slower said witch aged. Baba was powerful, beautiful and had appalling taste in clothes. Dressed right out of the movie Flash Dance complete with the ripped sweatshirt, leggings and headband. It was all I could do not to alert the fashion police.
She was surrounded by the rest of her spooky posse, an angry bunch of warlocks who were clearly annoyed to be in attendance.
"Baba Yaga," Sassy said as respectfully as she could without making eye contact.
"Your Crouchness," I muttered and received a quick elbow to the gut from my cellmate.
Baba Yaga leaned against the cell bars, and her torn at the shoulder sweatshirt dripped over her creamy shoulder. "Zelda and Sassy, you have served your term. Upon release you will have limited magic."
I gasped and Sassy paled. WTF? We'd done our time. Limited magic? What did that mean?
"Fuck," I stuttered.
"But… um… Ms. Yaga, that's not fair," Sassy added more eloquently than I had. "We paid our dues. I had to withstand Zelda's company for nine months. I believe that is cruel and unusual punishment."
"Oh my hell," I shouted. "You have got to be kidding me. I fantasized chewing glass, swallowing it and then super gluing my ears shut so I would have to listen to anymore play by plays of Full House episodes."
"Full House is brilliant and Bob Saget is hot," she grumbled as her face turned red.
"Enough," Baba Yaga hissed as she waved a freshly painted nail at us in admonishment. "You two are on probation, and during that probation you will be strictly forbidden to see each other until you have completed your tasks."
"Not a problem. I don't want to lay eyes on Sujata ever again," I said.
"It's Sassy," she ground out. "And what in the Goddess' name do you mean by tasks?"
Baba Yaga smiled—it was not a nice smile.
"Tasks. Selfless tasks. And before you two get all uppity with that 'I can't believe you're being so harsh' drivel, keep in mind that this is a light sentence. Most of the Council wanted you imbeciles stripped of your magic permanently."
That was news. What on earth had I done that would merit that? I conjured up fun things. Sure, they were things I used to my advantage, like shoes and sunny vacations with fruity drinks sporting festive umbrellas in them, served to me on a tropical beach by guys with fine asses...but it wasn't like I took anything from anyone in the process.
"I'm not real clear here," I said warily.
"Oh, I can help with that," Baba Yaga offered kindly. "You, Zelda—how many pairs of Jimmy Choo shoes do you own?"
I mentally counted in my head—kind of. "Um… three?"
Baba Yaga frowned and bright green sparks flew around her head. "Seventy-five and you paid for none of them. Not to mention your wardrobe and cars and the embarrassingly expensive vacations you have taken for free."
When her eyes narrowed dangerously, I swallowed my retort. Plus, I had eighty pairs...
"And you, Sassy, you've used your magic to seduce men and have incurred millions in damages from your temper tantrums. Six buildings and a town. Not to mention your indiscretion with my former lover. If I hadn't already been done with him you'd be in solitary confinement for eternity. Can you not see how I had to fight for you?" she demanded, her beautiful eyes fiery.
"Well, when you put it that way," I mumbled.
"There is no other way to put it," she snapped as her mystical lynch mob nodded like the bobble-headed freaks that they were. "Zelda, you have used your magic for self-serving purposes and Sassy, you have a temper that when combined with your magic could be deadly. We are White Witches. We use magic to heal and to make Mother Earth a better place, not to walk the runway and take down cities."
"So what do we have to do?" Sassy asked with a tremor
in her voice. She was freaked.
Baba Yaga winked and my stomach dropped to my toes. "There are two envelopes with your tasks in them. You will not share the contents with each other. If you do, you will render yourselves powerless. Forever. You have till midnight on All Hallows Eve to complete your assignments and then you will come under review with the Council."
"And if we are unable to fulfill our duty?" I asked, wanting to get all the facts up front.
"You will become mortal."
Shit. My stomach dropped to my toes and I debated between hurling and getting on my knees and begging for mercy. Neither would have done a bit of good...There was no way in hell I could make it in this world as a mortal—I didn't even know how to use a microwave.
And on that alarming and potentially life ending note, Baba Yaga and her entourage disappeared in a cloud of old lady crouch smoke.
"Well, that's fucking craptastic," I said as I warily sniffed my envelope—the one that had appeared out of thin air and landed right between my fingertips.
"You took the words right out of my mouth," Sassy replied as she examined hers.
She tossed her envelope on her cot as though she were afraid to touch it and turned her back on it. I simply shoved mine in the pocket of my heinous orange jumpsuit.
"So that's it? We just do whatever the contents of the envelope tell us to do?" Sassy whined. "Okay, so we're a little self-absorbed, but I do use my magic to heal. Remember when I kind of accidentally punched the guard in the face? I totally healed his nose."
I laughed and rolled my eyes. "He was bleeding all over your one and only pokey jumpsuit."
"Immaterial. I healed him, didn't I?" she insisted.
"And then I zapped your skanky jumpsuit clean," I added, not to be outdone by her list of somewhat dubious selfless acts. "However, I get the feeling that's not the kind of healing magic Baba Yasshole means." I sat down on my own cot, still stunned by our sentence from the Council.
"You know what? Screw Baba Ganoush!" Sassy grunted as she grabbed her envelope and waved it in the air. I sighed and put my hand on her arm to prevent her from doing any damage to her task.
"Yomamma. It's Baba Yomamma, Sassy. And seriously—what choice do we have at this point except to do what she says? You don't want to stay in here, do you? I say we yank up our big girl panties and get this shit done. Deal?"
I stunned myself and Sassy with my responsible reasoning ability.
She made a face but nodded. "Baba Wha-Wha said we couldn't share the contents of our envelopes. There's no way in hell we can open these together and not share."
"Correct. Baba Yosuckmybutt is hateful."
"You want to get turned into a mortal?"
I shuddered. "Fuck no. So now what?" I asked as I played with the offending envelope in my pocket.
"See you on the flip side?" Sassy held up her fist for a bump.
I bumped. "Probably not. While it's been nice in the way a root canal or a canker sore is nice I think it's time for us to part ways."
Sassy grinned and shrugged and I answered with my own.
"So we walk out of here on three?" she asked.
"Yes, we do."
We both took a deep breath. "One, two, three…"
The door of our cell popped open the moment we approached it, clanging and creaking.
We exchanged one last smile before Sassy hung a left and headed down the winding cement path that led to freedom. She made her way down the dimly lit hallway until she was nothing but a small, curvy dot on the horizon.
I clutched the envelope in my pocket with determination and sucked in a huge breath.
And then I hung a right.
2
Dearest Zelda,
Apparently your Aunt Hildy died. Violently. You have inherited her home. Go there and make me proud that I didn't strip you of your magic. You will know what to do when you get there.
If you ever use the term “old lady crouch” again while referring to me I will remove your tongue.
xoxo Baba Yaga
P.S. The address is on the back of the note and there is a car for you parked in the garage under the hotel. It's the green one. The purple one is mine. If you even look at it I will put all of your shoes up for sale on eBay. And yes, I am well aware you have eighty pairs.
"Motherhumper, what a bee-otch—put my shoes up for sale, my ass. And who in the hell is Aunt Hildy? I don't have a freakin' aunt named Hildy. Died violently? What exactly does ‘died violently’ mean?" I muttered to no one as I reread the ridiculous note. Goddess, I wondered what Sassy's note said, but we had gone our separate ways about an hour ago.
My mother was an only child and I hadn't seen her in years—so no Aunt Hildy on that side. My mom, and I use the term loosely, was an insanely powerful witch who had met some uber-hot, super weird Vampire ten years ago and they'd gone off to live in a remote castle in Transylvania. The end.
And my father...his identity was anyone's guess. In her day my mother had been a very popular and active witch. I suppose Baba I Know Freakin’ Everything Yaga knew who my elusive daddy was and Hildy must be his sister.
Awesome.
I hustled my ass to the garage and gasped in dismay. In the far corner of the dank, dark, musty-smelling garage sat a car… a green car. A lime green car. Even better, it was a lime green Kia. Was Baba YoMamma fucking joking? Why did I have to drive anywhere? I was a witch. I could use magic to get wherever I wanted to go.
Crap.
Did I even have enough magic to transport? Could I end up wedged in a time warp and stuck for eternity?
And what, pray tell, was this? A Porsche? Baba Yoyeastinfection drove a Porsche… of course she did.
I eyed the purple Porsche with envy and for a brief moment considered keying it. The look on Boobie Yoogie's face would be worth it. Another couple of years in the magic pokey plus having to watch my fancy footwear be auctioned off on eBay was enough to curb my impulse. However, I did lick my finger and smear it on the driver's side mirror. I was told not to look at it. The cryptic note mentioned nothing about touching it.
Glancing down at my orange jumpsuit I cringed. Did they really expect me to wear this? What the hell had become of me? I was a thirty-year-old paroled witch in orange prison wear and tennis shoes. My fingers ached to clothe myself in something cute and sexy. Did I dare? How would they even know?
Wait… she knew I called her old lady crouch. She would certainly know if I magicked up some designer duds. Shitballs. Orange outfit and red hair it was.
Thankfully the car had a GPS, not that I knew how to work anything electronic. I was a witch, for god's sake. I normally flicked my fingers, chanted a spell or wiggled my nose. The address of my inheritance was in West Virginia. How freakin' far was West Virginia from Salem, Massachusetts?
Apparently eleven hours and twenty-one minutes.
It took me exactly forty-five minutes of swearing and punching the dashboard to figure that little nugget out. Bitchy Yicky was officially my least favorite person in the world. However, I was a little proud to have made the damn GPS work without using magic or blowing the car up.
Five hours into the trip I was itchy, bloated and had a massive stomachache. Beef jerky and Milk Duds were not my friend. Top that off with a corn dog and two sixty-four ounce caffeinated sodas and I was a clusterfuck waiting to happen.
Thank the Goddess New England was gorgeous in the fall. The colors were breathtaking, but they did little to calm my indigestion. The Kia had no radio reception, but luckily it did come with a country compilation CD that was stuck in the CD player. I was going deaf from the heartfelt warblings about pickup trucks, back roads and barefoot rednecks.
Pretending to be mortal sucked. Six more hours and twenty-one minutes to go—shit. Sadly I found myself longing for even the hideous company of Sassy. Being alone was getting old.
"I can do this. I have to do this. I will do this," I shouted at the alarmed driver of a minivan while stopped at a traffic light in Bumfuck, I
don'tknowwhere.
"I'm baaaaaaack," something hissed from behind me.
"What the fu… ?" I shrieked and jerked the wheel to the right, avoiding a bus stop and landing the piece of crap car in a shallow ditch. "Who said that?"
"I diiiiiiiid," the ominous voice whispered. "Have yooooooou misssssssed me?"
"Um, sure," I mumbled as I quietly removed my seatbelt and prepared to dive out of the car. Maybe I could catch a lift with the woman I'd terrified in the minivan. "I've missed you a ton."
"You look like shiiiiiiit in ooooorrrrangeeeee," it informed me.
That stopped me. Whatever monster or demon was in the backseat had just gone one step too far.
Scare me? Fine.
Insult me? Fry.
"Excuse me?" I snapped and whipped around to smite the fucker. Where was he? Was he invisible? "Show yourself."
"Down heeeeere on the floooooor," the thing said.
Peering over the seat, I gagged and threw up in my mouth just a little. This could not be happening. I pinched myself hard and yelped from the pain. It was happening and it was probably going to get ugly in about twelve seconds.
"Um, hi Fabio, long time no see," I choked out, wondering if I made a run for it if he would follow and kill me. Or at the very least, would he get behind the wheel of the Kia and run me over… three times. "You're looking kind of alive."
"Thank youuuuuuuu," he said as he hopped over the seat and landed with a squishy thud entirely too close to me.
I plastered myself against the door and debated my next move. Fabio looked bad. He still resembled a cat, but he was kind of flat in the middle, his head was an odd shape and his tail cranked to the left. Most of his black fur still covered him except for a large patch on his face, which made him resemble a pinkish troll. He didn't seem too angry, but I did kill him. To be fair, I didn't mean to. I didn't know he was under the wheel and I kind of freaked and hit reverse and drive several times before I got out and screamed bloody murder.
"So what are you doing here?" I inquired casually, careful not to make eye contact.
Madison's Mess Page 17