Magic and Mayhem: When You Witch Upon A Star (Kindle Worlds Novella) (4 page)

Chapter Six

S
ophie headed to the door while I carefully gathered the raccoon. By the time I reached the door, Sophie was talking quietly to a stunning red-headed woman. From their silence upon my arrival, they must have been talking about me.

“Zelda? Hi, I’m Jessica. Sophie said you might be able to help this raccoon. I…” I didn’t even get to finish explaining.

“Thanks for bringing him, Jessica. I’ll take him from here.” Rather abruptly, Zelda took the poor creature in her arms and turned back inside. As if on an afterthought, she turned around briefly. “Don’t tell anyone else about this. You and I will talk more later on.” She slammed the door shut.

“Well, that was interesting. Do you think she’ll be able to save the raccoon?”

“She wouldn’t have taken him otherwise,” Sophie replied, stepping off the porch.

“Did I say something wrong? She seemed so… short with me.”

“Have you ever been to a hospital ER?”

“Yes.”

“And I bet nobody at the ER invited you to have tea with them.”

“Of course not.”

“Exactly. Not the time or place. Zelda was obviously more concerned about the raccoon.”

I glanced back at the door, then at my clunky old Suburban. Jesus. It looked like an old Russian tank. A tide of low self-esteem washed over me. Compared to Zelda, I looked just as bad as my old clunker. My outfit—old sweat pants and an oversized t-shirt—didn’t help matters much, but in my own defense, on long road trips I dressed for comfort.

Just as Sophie and I headed back to the Suburban, Tiago hopped up on the edge of the open rear window. I squinted, trying to figure out what was dangling from his beak. I blinked once, then again, before my brain finally processed what I was seeing. Of course.

“Nice.” It was my bra. I’d had forgotten until now that I’d set the sisters free an hour into my road trip. Time to feel even worse about myself. Let’s face it, Zelda was as beautifully kept as her house. And there I was looking just as bad as the half-dead raccoon I’d dropped off.

On our way back to the motel, Sophie began the interrogation that I, as a stranger to the area, had fully expected to receive. In fact, I’d already rehearsed the scenario in the rearview mirror many times.

“What brings you all the way from Chicago to this little wayside, Jessica?”

“Oh, you know. Typical stuff for someone my age. I needed to get away from the city, spread my wings, and find out if I can make it on my own.”

“I couldn’t help noticing those big plastic cases and trunks. I thought maybe you were a musician.”

“Nope. Photography. It’s just a hobby, though. I figured West Virginia would be a nice scenic place to find wildlife and nature shots.”

“Wildlife?”

“Yeah, you know—deer, rabbits… a bear would be great. A wolf would be amazing.”

Sophie’s tone suddenly turned ominous. “Let me give you some advice, girl.  Don’t stay any longer than a few days. People in this town are funny when it comes to strangers.”

“Funny? Like ha-ha funny or…?”

“Like we don’t want strangers poking their noses around in our business. That kind of funny.”

Her little warning was music to my ears. It confirmed that the people of Assjacket had something to hide.

“Oh, I’m not here to get into anyone’s business.”  I lied, dropping her off at the motel office.

Sophie turned and leaned against the passenger side door. By the way she studied my face, it was clear she was judging my sincerity. “That’s good. Be sure to keep it like that. I don’t want to see you getting into any trouble with the locals.”

“Squawk!” Tiago voiced his opinion as she walked away. He didn’t like her one bit.

“She’s all right, Tiago. I think she honestly wants to be sure I stay out of trouble. Why don’t we take a drive around town, get familiar with it?”

“Squawk!”

“Music please.”

Tiago dug deep in his mental archive and came up with an oldie by Dion, “The Wanderer.” It was one of Uncle Carmine’s favorites.

“Great, lyrics to be a womanizer by,” I mumbled, but I let him sing away as I drove past the town square. “A bear statue, and half his face is missing. There’s got to be a story or hidden meaning behind that.”

Then I spotted what I was looking for: a diner, a typical old-fashioned greasy spoon. In the corner of one of the green-tinted glass windows was a “Server Wanted” sign, and it had my name written all over it.

“Perfect!” When it comes to gathering intelligence, the CIA wishes they had agents as effective as a waitress working the breakfast shift. If someone so much as whispered a rumor about a werewolf, or got a glimpse of a werebear, I’d know about it.

It would also be a good place to find out about an apartment or a room for rent. God knows I had zero desire to stay in Sophie’s ramshackle no-tell motel a night longer than necessary. But until I found something better, the Evergreen would have to be my headquarters.

I made a final swing through town before heading back. I took note of the grocery store’s location, as well as a gas station and convenience store. Back in my room, I wished I had gotten Zelda’s phone number. She hadn’t even hinted that I might be able to call and check on the poor raccoon.

“What do you think, Tiago? Should we drive over there and just knock on her door?”

Tiago squawked and responded with an eerily perfect impersonation of Zelda. “You and I will talk more later on.”

“That’s right!” I had forgotten all about her parting words. She’d seemed almost pissed off at me when she said that. I mean, sure, I hit the raccoon, but it was a complete accident. I’d never purposely hurt an innocent animal. “I’m surprised you heard her. Good bird.” I tossed him one of his snack cakes.

You’d think those little snacks that he just loved to gobble up wouldn’t be too bad. After all, it’s only trail mix smooshed into a sticky little cake shape. Guess what? You’d be wrong. Apparently the bird-food company adds a secret ingredient: armadillo ass. Yes, I know this because I tried one of those cakes that look so yummy, but taste like Satan’s communion wafers.

“I wonder though… what did she mean? Will she just show up? Or was it customary social chitchat that came off as rude?”

Tiago didn’t answer my questions. All I could hear was his beak smacking and some little weirdly ecstatic grunts. I swear he gets off on eating. It was already dark out, and I had forgotten about dinner. Ordering a pizza was certainly tempting, but my finances dictated I eat the last of the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches Maria’d made for my trip.

Aside from cheating death when I crashed through the flea market with all the grace of a Saint Bernard crashing through a screen door, it had turned out to be a productive first day in laying the groundwork for my research. The raccoon would probably argue differently, but I was sure he was in good hands. I’d met a couple of locals, and I found the perfect place to get a part-time job.

Best of all, I had already been advised—okay, fine,
warned
—not to nose around in the locals’ personal business or stay too long, because I was an outsider. If I’d had any doubts before, they had been washed away by Sophie’s interrogation. I knew I was in the right place.

Tiago and I slept soundly despite our less than glamourous surroundings and didn’t wake up until the morning sun came knocking on the door. The bright new day filled me with a renewed sense of vigor. Or it could have been the coffee.

It was time to formally introduce myself to the citizenry of Assjacket, West Virginia, via a job application at the diner I’d spotted yesterday.

Some people say they never get even the slightest worry when applying for a new job. I think that’s a big fat lie. Even the most confident of people must feel some hint of anxiety, whether or not they own up to it. Let’s face it, when you apply for a job you’re marketing yourself. Everything about you, inside and out, is presented and offered up for intense scrutiny from your would-be employer.

Under that kind of pressure, even the slightest remnant of some old forgotten self-doubt just might come roaring back to life as a maniacal gorilla. He’s shredding your confidence and hell-bent on making you go into that interview as poised and graceful as a giraffe on a tight rope.

The only thing that’s worked for me in these situations is my universal confidence-building pep talk. “Say it, Tiago.”

“If all those other people can do it, I sure as hell know I can. I’m at least as good as half of them and better than the other half.”

“Thanks, Tiago.” Yes, that little self-help speech has gotten me through all sorts of things I doubt I could have done otherwise.

The motel room’s bathroom was clean but weird. The tub had one of those old valves that I couldn’t figure out. It had six moving parts, seriously. Those things trick you into getting in the shower with a lukewarm drizzle, thinking everything will be fine and dandy.

Once you’ve fully committed to a shower, the horrors begin. Suddenly its capabilities are limited to spitting out water in two temperatures: so cold a penguin would freeze his flippers off, and so ass-scalding hot you’d swear you could boil an egg in it. Nothing in between. Some plumbing engineer really overthought that brilliant design. It’s no wonder they are only found in motels. They really don’t want the guests to use the water at all.

Having survived the shower ordeal, I went to work on my hair, which was no small feat. It’s thick, dark, and frizzy. It grows faster than the Chia-Pet I got for my birthday one year. Getting my hair to cooperate for any length of time requires an entire suitcase full of hairstyling gear and products—two suitcases if it’s humid.

Finally, it was time for my favorite blue dress and black boots. Some people, like my Nonna, might say I could be a bit more modest, but why should I bother? I’m a fairly curvy girl. I see no point in trying to hide it. I’m perfectly comfortable with my body and I don’t care what others think. As far as catching a guy’s attention, if he’s interested in me, he may as well get a full disclosure because my body isn’t changing any time soon.

Fully clothed and ready to go, I turned my attention to Tiago. “Be a good boy, please. Watch something other than porn or Judge Judy.” I placed the remote at his feet. “Wish me luck! I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Chapter Seven

A
lthough I’d stopped at plenty of small towns when I traveled with the circus, I’d never experienced anything quite like my visit to the diner.

When I saw several faces gazing out from behind the windows, I figured they were curious about what could be making such a racket. Perhaps they thought it was a tractor dragging a dumpster full of scrap metal and a cage full of rabid monkeys through town, never expecting it to be my Suburban.

I stepped out of The Beast and walked past the windows. The gawkers couldn’t have stared any harder. I half expected their eyeballs to roll right out of their sockets. “Jesus! Am I a two-headed giraffe?” I mumbled.

Perhaps the arrival of an out-of-town visitor to Assjacket was akin to a visit by a Martian.  Maybe it was the way I was dressed. I’ll admit, I looked pretty damn hot with my curves on display in that little-too-short, little-too-tight dress. You certainly won’t see that look strutting down a Paris runway. I can guarantee you that.

“It’s Mardi Gras! Want beads? Show your tits!” An all too familiar voice squawked behind me.

A sudden shockwave of panic ran straight to my chest. Did I not put on a bra? I slapped my palms against my chest, half expecting to feel my big boobs flopping in the wind. “I’m losing it. Of course I would know if I didn’t have a bra on.”

Tiago fluttered onto my shoulder. “You say some of the most disgusting things, Tiago.” That bird really has bad timing. It’s so embarrassing when he cracks open a box of gutter-mouth in public.

“Wait! What the hell are you doing here, Tiago? I left you in the room!” He never ceases to amaze me. “I want you to behave yourself in here or no more good-bird snacks for you. Capisce?”

“Squawk!”

As soon as I walked in, a very pretty woman with huge hazel eyes greeted me.

“You must be Jessica. Welcome!” She grabbed my hands and gave me a very welcoming double handshake. “I’m Dee Dee, co-owner of this little place.”

I was taken totally off guard. “Uh, hi Dee Dee. This is my parrot, Tiago. Why… how did you know who I am?”

“We all heard about the accident.”

“You mean the flea market?”

“Yep. People say you smashed through it like a twister through a trailer park. But that’s not why we know who you are. It’s because of the raccoon you ran down and mangled with that big old Chevy of yours.”

“It was an accident! I didn’t mean to.”

“Of course, I know that. Wanda, the other co-owner here, told me all about how you took him to Zelda. Listen, I want you to know how very impressed we are that you went out of your way to save him. Most people on that highway wouldn’t have even bothered. It was very kind of you.”

The wheels in my head were clicking. What could this extreme interest in the raccoon mean? Was he a known Shifter?  My brain shuffled through stacks of mental notes for any recollection of raccoon Shifters. Nothing. But just because I hadn’t heard of raccoon Shifters didn’t mean they couldn’t exist.

An idea sparked in my head. I could be the one to discover a whole new species of cryptids!

I realized I’d been staring. I hadn’t said a word in reply to her kind comments. “I was only doing the responsible thing. Have you heard how he’s doing?”

“All patched up and released back to the wild, as I understand it.”

“Wow! Zelda must be a regular miracle worker.”  I made another mental note: Zelda was no ordinary woman. I thought it was very likely that she was one of the witches I’d been warned about. This town was already living up to my expectations.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking this, but why is there…” Then I froze up, a wise move on my part. I’d been about to just come out and ask her why they had such a deep concern about that raccoon. I realized that blatantly questioning her would make me look a little too snoopy.

I remembered a passage from my field guide:
Cryptozoologists should build a trusting relationship with witnesses before asking any questions
.

“Sorry, sometimes I babble. What I meant to say is that I saw your help wanted sign. I’m a very experienced server and I would love to work here.”

Dee Dee’s smile disappeared. “Oh,” she said in a flat voice, obviously disappointed. “We thought you were just passing through town.”

“Nope. I plan on calling this town my home for the summer. I figure it would be good to get out of the city. Practice my hobbies, photography and… um… birdwatching.” I needed some excuses in place. Someone was bound to witness me wandering through the woods with binoculars, camera equipment and a field guide.

“Birdwatching? How interesting. Tell me, what species are you hoping to find?”

Suddenly, I couldn’t think of any species.

I began to mentally scold myself. Busted!
Think, damn it! Think, Jessica! Name a bird.
Finally a few names rolled off my tongue. “Oh, you know, eagles, woodpeckers, canaries, and a really rare hummingbird. So if you see me out in the fields and forests with binoculars it means I’m looking for that guy.”

“What kind of hummingbird?” I couldn’t believe Dee Dee actually asked.

I didn’t even know if different kinds of hummingbirds existed. Back to lying off the top of my head. I quickly rattled off the first thing that popped into my mind. “Bartholin’s hummingbird. It’s a pink-winged… ah, red-tailed… little guy. Slippery little devil for sure.”

“Hmm, I can imagine. Well, I sure hope you find one. As far as the job goes, I’ll need to check with my business partner. Maybe you can stop back by here—”

“So this is Jessica!” A woman shouted herself right into our conversation.

“It certainly is,” Dee Dee replied. “And she’d like to fill that morning wait staff opening we have.”

“Of course, Dee Dee! Why wouldn’t we want to hire someone as responsible as her?”

“There’s your answer, Jessica. Congrats. When do you want to start?”

“Is tomorrow morning okay?”

“Of course. Come in whenever you’re ready,” Wanda answered.

Then, it happened.
He
happened. A magnificent, dare I say beautiful, man drifted out of the kitchen and stood only a few feet in front of me. He was drop-dead, heart-stopping, mouth-watering, vagina-quivering, smoking hot.

A skyrocket arced over his thick dark hair, exploding into stars that fluttered down over his muscular physique like silver and gold snowflakes.

“Jessica? Jessica? Are you okay, honey?” Dee Dee snapped her fingers in my face.

“Ooh, fireworks.” I think I actually said it out loud. “Huh?”

“I asked if you’re okay. It was like your brain shut down.” Dee Dee sounded quite concerned.

“It sure did. You were just gawking at the ceiling tiles above Rollan’s head. You didn’t pick any mushrooms when you were out birdwatching, did you?” Wanda’s concern matched Dee Dee’s.

“Rollan?” I asked. I thought he would have a name like Armand or something exotic. His name didn’t quite match up with his physique. Rollan reminded me too much of a clown I knew named Rolly, and I really didn’t want Rolly’s image in my head when I thought of Rollan.

Dee Dee threw her hands up in the air. “Where are our manners? I’m so sorry, Jessica. This is Rollan Laveur, our new dishwasher. Rollan, this is Jessica. She’s going to be joining us.”

Wanda cupped her hand to the side of her mouth and whispered with excitement, “Rollan is from France.”

Poor Rollan. Even so, he made occasional quick glances toward the ceiling, worrying about what had my attention. If he only knew. It was his Adonis-like face, his muscular shoulders and his rock-hard body. And he was about my age. Lady Luck was on my side.

Apparently the French guys have perfected the subtle art of making a white T-shirt and tight jeans look sexy as hell. My eyes took a tour around every toned ripple, crease, and yes, bulge. If any guy I knew tried to impersonate Rollan’s style they’d only come off looking obscene.

I was mesmerized, as if I was in a dream. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. I sunk even deeper into the dream when his warm hand gently took mine. “It is a pleasure to meet my new co-worker, especially one so beautiful.”

Oh my God! If this is a dream, please don’t let me wake up. He has a real French accent! Holy Hell, he just lifted my hand to his mouth. This is really happening!

Then he gently pressed his lips to my hand. I was instantly transformed into a puddle of melted wax.

“Yes.” I moaned in a passionate voice I hadn’t known I was capable of.

I was a tad bit harsh on myself for my space-cadet vocabulary.
Yes? And to boot, you just had to sound like you’re getting off? That’s the best you can do?

Rollan cocked his head, apparently trying to figure out what I was yessing about. “I look forward to seeing you again tomorrow.”

“Yes.”

Again?
 
Damn it. What is wrong with me?

He turned around and returned to his post in the kitchen. I didn’t take my eyes off of his ass until I lost sight of it—I mean him.