Nice Witches Don't Swear Page 3

  This was my chance. This was the moment I’d craved since I’d realized I was standing inside the Assjacket library.

  I edged around the circulation desk, making my way to the glassed-in room. The clatter behind me continued to rise, like someone turning up the volume on a recording of a John Cage symphony.

  This close to the source, the electric hum made my teeth ache. I settled my hand on the door of the special room, barely able to keep my fingers from trembling. I turned the knob, slowly, carefully. I slipped inside the room, catching my breath in relief that the glass blocked some of the cacophony.

  The magical jangle was a physical thing now, like a torrent of water, pulling me downstream. I didn’t have to look at the books; I didn’t have to wonder.

  My hands automatically found the fine-grained leather. I felt the wooden boards of the cover. I glanced down and saw the ornate letters on the spine, picked out in gold leaf: Goldthwaite’s On the Nature of Witches.

  I pulled the book from the shelf and clutched it to my chest. But before I could begin to figure out how to smuggle it out of Assjacket, West Virginia, I heard an outraged shriek. “Stop, thief!”

  I looked up to find Zelda, a werewolf, Madonna, the jolly red giant, and my own astonished familiar staring at me.

  Chapter 3

  Without thinking, I clutched the book close to my chest. The binding felt smooth beneath my fingertips, like it belonged with me forever and ever and ever. Right.

  I longed to open it, right then and there, to read the words on the thick vellum pages. I could feel the power of the volume with every molecule of my witchy powers. Drawing a deep breath, I filled my lungs with the familiar smell of leather and ink and dust.

  “Drop it!” The Madonna look-alike’s voice cracked like a whip.

  “I’d do what she says,” Zelda warned. “Unless you want to spend some quality time in the pokey. And a word of warning? Those orange jumpsuits would look heinous with your hair.”

  Pokey? Orange jumpsuits? And who the hell did Ms. Material Girl—er, Carol—think she was?

  “I’m the Baba Yaga,” Carol said, pulling herself to her full height. As green sparks flared around her head, I wondered if she could read my mind.

  Of course, I knew all the old legends. Baba Yaga was a Russian witch. She flew around in a mortar, wielding a pestle like some ancient warrior. She lived deep in the Slavic forest, in a hut that stood on chicken legs. She could be a trickster or an evil witch or a surprisingly kind mother figure.

  But no story I’d ever read mentioned the metal bra and the super-high ponytail.

  Then again, nothing I’d ever read mentioned rampaging honey badgers. Or spells to the Goddess that worked like telegrams. Or Shifter Wankers and Shifter Kings.

  I must have been reading the wrong things.

  I cleared my throat and tested my most diplomatic voice. “I think there must be some misunderstanding.” I looked around to include all the denizens of Assjacket in my explanation, even as I hugged the Goldthwaite closer. “This book is part of a much bigger collection. It belonged to Hannah Osgood. I’m the custodian of the Osgood collection—all of the books, along with a number of arcane artifacts and, um, Neko.”

  My familiar preened as every eye in the room turned toward him. “It’s true,” he said, extending his fingers to study his manicure. “Jane took charge of the Osgood estate almost six months ago.”

  “Oh my,” the red-headed giant interrupted. “What hand cream do you use?”

  “Kiehl’s,” Neko replied. “When I can get it.”

  “Ultimate Strength? Or the Intensive Treatment? And do you find—”

  “Fabio!” Baba Yaga. “Maybe we could save that till later?”

  The big guy looked abashed. I decided to press my advantage, as long as I had one. If I had one. I asserted, “This book belongs in the Osgood collection. I can feel it.”

  “Feel it?” Zelda asked. Her curiosity sounded genuine.

  She was a witch; I knew that. I’d just seen her wield magic with a more casual flair than I’d ever imagined doing in my life. She hadn’t wasted any time with the details—offering up the power of her thought, of her voice, of her heart. The spell she’d cast clearly wasn’t memorized from any book. (What book would actually cover threats from enchanted honey badgers?!?) With its mismatched rhyme and questionable scansion, Zelda had clearly crafted her spell on the spur of the moment.

  I wanted to shield the Goldthwaite with every fiber of my body and mind. But I wasn’t on home territory anymore. I had to play by other people’s rules. Hating the risk, I straightened my arms, extending the volume toward the other witch.

  Neko must have realized what the gesture cost me. He closed the distance between us, leaning close to my side. I could feel heat radiating through his jacket. That warmth alone would have been comforting on a stormy Imbolc night. But my familiar’s steady reflection of my own magical powers was even more soothing than his physical presence. I drew from his strength, extending my own psychic field as Zelda took the book from my hands.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Zelda said, directing her challenge at Neko.

  “I’m Jane’s familiar.” His purr was deceptively smooth, but I felt him stiffen at my side.

  “Not if you materialized in this library like that. You’re a warlock, aren’t you?”

  Neko clicked his tongue with indignation. “Everyone knows warlocks are fairytales.”

  “Fairytales!” Zelda harrumphed. At the same time, Mac nudged her side, giving her a suggestive smile. She took the time to return his leer, and I couldn’t help but think about what they’d been doing before the honey badgers attacked, at the full range of activities that would have left that massive wolf-shifter chest bare.

  Fabio, though, wasn’t as easily distracted. Instead, he pulled himself up to his full height, red hair glinting beneath the library’s fluorescent lights. “I assure you,” he said. “Warlocks are not fairytales. Now, a familiar who can poof without his witch… That’s a fairytale.”

  Poof? I guess he meant transporting along the astral plane. Neko looked so offended, I nearly laughed.

  But the stakes were too high. Fabio was calling Neko a liar, and my familiar’s indignation vibrated through his entire body. I clutched his arm, reminding him that I needed him to stay close. I had no idea how much power I might have to draw on, if things went south in this bizarre little town.

  “I’m the reason Neko can…poof,” I clarified. “I awakened him on the night of the full moon.”

  Carol nodded slowly. But Zelda’s eyes narrowed. “Awakened him?” She sounded like she was accusing me of taking the last Prada purse at a fire sale.

  “Broke him out of his statue form?” I explained. Damn. My voice was turning things into questions again. As long as I was asking, though… “That’s the way you got your familiars, right?”

  Zelda snorted. “I got mine from Aunt Hildy. The Shifter Wanker before me. She left me three of the mangiest cats you’ve ever seen. Fattest, too. Not that their size keeps them from licking their junk whenever they get the chance. Like all familiars, huh?”

  Neko’s astonishment was palpable. “I assure you—”

  I cut him off because I didn’t want to alienate Zelda in any possible way. Certainly not to tell her that her three fat, mangy, um, oft-grooming familiars were anything less than perfect. I needed to be friends with Zelda. At least until she gave me permission to take On the Nature of Witches back to DC.

  I still held the book, of course. While everyone was talking, I’d shifted it in my arms, cradling it like a child, something too precious and delicate to weather the crazy conversation going on around me.

  The book’s magic continued to jangle through my body. It’s power over me was physical, like the sudden lurch in your belly when you see the object of your deepest, most desperate, most hopeless crush. I needed the book. I could never be complete without it.

  Zelda noticed my fingers tighten around
the leather. She pursed her lips as she cocked her head to one side. Looking from the Goldthwaite to me, she jutted her chin toward Carol. “What do you think, Baba Yoma—” She coughed a little, then repeated herself. “What do you think, Baba Yaga?”

  Carol released a cascade of green sparks toward the ceiling. Looking like she was positioned under an emerald disco ball, she said, “I’m pretty sure no one gets something for nothing.”

  Zelda looked impressed by the light show. “Whatever floats your boat,” she said to Madonna.

  Carol turned stony eyes on me. “You can have the book,” she said. The tone of her voice withered any warm fuzzies that might have considered blooming beneath my heart.

  “But…” I prompted.

  “But,” Carol said.

  “Butt!” Zelda said slyly, sticking out her own posterior. Mac gave her an admiring glance.

  Before he could proposition her, though, Carol said, “But you owe me a favor.”

  A thousand alarm bells crashed inside my head. I was talking to Baba Yaga. As in, the classic fairytale witch. And everyone who’s ever read a single Grimm’s story knows only a fool gives an open-ended promise to a stranger. Especially to a fairytale witch.

  If I agreed to her deal, Baba Yaga could force me to do anything. She could demand that I hand over the entire Osgood collection. She could take Neko away forever. She could channel my powers against my own family and friends. She could turn me into a newt.

  The book felt heavy in my arms, as if it were bound in lead instead of leather. Its power ratcheted higher, setting every one of my magical nerves on fire. It somehow knew I was considering leaving it behind.

  “I can’t…” I said, reluctantly meeting Carol’s eyes. “You’re asking too much. I can’t be indebted to you forever.”

  She laughed, sending more green sparks bouncing off the ceiling. Cranky, I wondered what I’d said that was so hilarious. “Of course you can’t give me an open-ended favor,” she said. “You’re making this much too complicated.”

  I waited, unwilling to say a word. What was that old saying? Better to keep your mouth shut and let people think you’re a fool than open it and let them know you are one.

  Carol smiled. It was approximately the same expression a shark uses to chat with a seal. “I’ll ask for my favor right now. Walk home with us.”

  “Home?”

  “To the Shifter Wanker’s house.” Carol made it sound easy. “Just keep us company until we’re over the threshold.”

  I glanced at Neko, wondering if he could spot any trap in the words. His head was tilted to the side. He was obviously listening—with his ears. But I could also feel him drawing on every ounce of his magical powers. His shoulders lifted slightly, the tiniest fraction of a shrug. He couldn’t identify any actual risk in Carol’s request.

  “When?” I asked, desperate to figure out the catch.

  “Right now.”

  “Neko can come with me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why?”

  “We don’t want to run into any more honey badgers, do we?”

  We didn’t. We absolutely, categorically, one hundred percent did not. Carol’s explanation actually sounded logical, even to my suspicious mind.

  The book was singing. Neko stood strong beside me. We were in the middle of Assjacket, West Virginia. What could possibly go wrong if I agreed to walk them home?

  We all walked out of the library together.

  Main Street was a disaster. The storm had toppled trash bins, strewing garbage across the street. Invading honey badgers had rolled in filth, leaving dark streaks on parked cars, soot-covered windows, and wet brick walls. Popped carcasses littered every surface. It would take weeks for the town’s citizens to clean up.

  “Those douchecanoes!” That was Zelda, stopping on the steps of the library behind me. “If I ever find out who’s stirring up those honey badgers, I’m going to smite their ass!” She flicked her fingers toward the devastation.

  Bam!

  Just like that, everything was restored. There were no spells, no incantations, no time wasted offering up the power of her thoughts, her voice, her heart. Zelda just pointed, and all the dirty work was done.

  I glanced at Neko. For the first time since I’d met him, my familiar was knocked speechless. If I hadn’t been so stunned myself, I would have laughed at his mouth opening with an audible pop, closing, and gaping open again. He looked at me, then at Zelda’s casually cocked hand, then back at me.

  I shrugged. What else was I going to do? It wasn’t like I had the first clue what was happening here. I began to sympathize with Melissa, with how she must have felt when I first showed her my powers.

  Melissa. She was stuck inside the diner. Who knew what was going on in there? I looked at Carol’s impatient face, and I said, “I’ll go with you. Really, I will. But I just need to check on my friend, Melissa.”

  “She’s fine,” Mac said. Pinned by the guy’s blue eyes, subjected to the power of his easy smile, I understood even more what Zelda saw in the shifter.

  “But the honey badgers… They might have hurt someone in there.”

  He shook his head. “Nope. I’m king of the shifters. If any of my people had been harmed, I’d know.”

  “But—”

  Fabio interrupted, pointing toward Zelda. “She’s the Shifter Wanker. If anyone had so much as a scratch, they’d be scrambling for Zelda to heal them.”

  Okaaaaay. So Zelda could banish honey badgers with a thought, clean up a demolished Main Street with a flick of her hands, and she could heal too? I was going to have to up my game considerably. Maybe find out where she went to witch school. Add something to my repertoire, so I didn’t come off as such a pretender.

  But if Zelda could do all that, what did she need with me? Why did Carol care if I walked them to their home, wherever that was? What possible advantage could they gain through my company?

  I squared my shoulders, which brought the Goldthwaite to a safe place, close against my chest. Now that I had the book, I could never let it go. But I had to ask the Madonna clone, “What exactly do you need me for?”

  “Goddess knows we can use all the hands we can get,” she said.

  “Not if you can do all that,” I said, waving vaguely at the perfectly restored street behind me.

  “I’ll be honest with you,” Carol said. “The honey badgers ‘just happened’ to arrive in Assjacket when you did. And until we get to know each other a little better, I’m going to keep an eye on you.” I started to protest, but she cut me off. “Just in case you get any funny ideas, remember there’s a nice, cold cell waiting for you in the pokey. No spells there. No magic of any form. Definitely no familiars.” She sniffed in Neko’s general direction.

  “And an orange jumpsuit that isn’t going to do you any favors,” reminded Zelda. She was a lot more cheerful than Carol was—not nearly as scary as she waved her arm and led the way up the hill toward a house that could easily have belonged to the Addams family.

  I looked at Neko. He looked at the leather-bound book in my arms. The sound of laughter rolled out of the diner. Someone was having a great time. Melissa clearly wasn’t in any danger.

  I said, “Let’s do this, then.”

  Carol nodded. Mac led the way, his arm casually draped around Zelda’s waist. After a few short steps, his fingers strayed to her butt, not that she seemed to care.

  As we walked, Fabio dropped back to talk to Neko. His first question was about the new winter collection of Balenciaga shoes. Neko, to his credit, didn’t take the bait. Instead, my familiar walked close to my side, giving off a comforting heat in the chill of the Imbolc night.

  Approaching Zelda’s home, I realized I hadn’t been fair when I said it reminded me of the Addams family. Sure, it was tall, with pointed windows and shutters and rounded shingles on the roof. But the closer I got, the more I realized the spooky air of desolation was an act. The entire building was part of the charade of Assjacket. Just as
the diner offered great food in a comforting space behind a grimy, run-down exterior, Zelda’s home was actually a Queen Anne treasure, complete with gingerbread bric-a-brac along the roofline.

  It would have looked downright cheerful, if the front door hadn’t gaped open.

  “Well, smite my ass!” Zelda yelped, as she clambered up the steps. Mac was half a step behind. The rest of us surged forward as well.

  A quick survey of the downstairs showed everything was in order. Everything, that was, except for a slimy mud trail that led from the doorway to the top of the stairs.

  “Goddess dammit!” Zelda muttered.

  Power began to spark off her. Her hair was caught up in a halo of purple fire. Mac put a broad hand on her shoulder, barely holding her back long enough for Fabio and Carol to catch up. My heart pounded as Neko and I closed ranks behind them. I might only have been bound to arrive at the house, but there was no way I could allow a fellow witch to face danger without me.

  My back was chilled as Neko positioned himself in front of me. He muttered under his breath.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  He sniffed, only half-turning to face me. “I can’t tell.”

  We reached the top of the stairs. Zelda and Mac took up positions on either side of the first door on the landing. Mac counted off silently, holding up fingers: One. Two.

  On “Three,” Zelda twisted the doorknob, and they both whipped around the doorframe, pouncing into the room. The rest of us crowded close behind, just in time to see Zelda and Mac tumble onto a four-poster bed, sprawling across each other with the force of their momentum.

  Zelda moaned, “This bed is too hard.”

  A laugh rumbled deep in Mac’s chest. Despite the tension, despite the trail of slime on the stairs, despite the looming sense of danger, he said, “Well, now Goldilocks. What are we going to do about that?”

  Zelda’s nose wrinkled, and a powder-blue headband manifested in her swirls of red hair. A flick of her fingers, and she was dressed in a matching blue dress, complete with a starched white pinafore. Well, “complete” was a term of art. The dress barely touched the middle of her thighs.