Slightly Spellbound (11 page)

“Coffee, yes,” she said, walking inside.

Mercutio yowled and lowered his body as if preparing to pounce. “Mercutio,” I said with a sharp shake of my head. He wrinkled his nose, and I understood his main objection might not be their magic but their terrible odor. Oatha really was refuse on two legs.

Beau followed her in, and his hair put porcupines to shame. At least he didn’t smell like death. He smelled reptilian, making the alligator tattoo on his forearm really appropriate.

“Y’all come in the kitchen and have a seat,” I said, afraid if they sat on the couches, I’d have to throw out the furniture after they left.

I quickly lit some scented candles with a glance at the closet where Vangie would be trapped until I got rid of her family. Of course, what I had planned was for her benefit, so I figured she wouldn’t mind hanging out to hear it.

I put the kettle on and busied myself at the pantry. On the middle shelf, smack-dab in the center, was a small wooden cask that my friend Kenny who does woodworking had made me custom. I opened the tap and let four drops of amber liquid drip into the bottom of the French press.

I’d been drugged with truth serum by the president of the World Association of Magic. Ever since then, I’d been working on my own truth serum, knowing it would come in handy sooner or later. I’m good with recipes, so I was pretty sure I’d be a good hand at potions one day. I’d perfected a truth serum from my aunt Mel’s spellbook and tested it out—with his permission, of course—on Bryn’s friend Andre. I thought he’d tell me cute stories from when he and Bryn were kids or some good gossip from when they were in their early twenties, but mostly Andre chuckled nonstop and told me about spells he’d twisted around to use in physics experiments. On account of the fact that I couldn’t even keep up with my high school science class, let alone a physics genius, I had to record the stuff he said and have him check it afterward to be sure he’d been telling the truth. It was kind of anticlimactic that way, but at least the potion had worked.

Now I could get to the bottom of whether Oatha had killed Vangie’s daddy.

I scooped dark roast coffee and chicory into the French press and waited for the water to heat. I took down two mugs and one teacup. I put some loose mint tea into a teapot. When the kettle was hot enough, I poured the steaming water into both. I waited as the drinks steeped and nearly jumped out of my skin when I felt breath against the back of my hair. I turned and found Beau standing a couple of inches from me.

“Smells good,
chère
.”

I wished I could say the same for the company. “Have a seat,” I said, giving him a little push toward a chair and away from me. I noticed a clump of reddish brown clinging to Oatha’s skirt. Was that what it looked like? Rotten flesh? Yuck! What kind of spells called for rotten meat? And couldn’t Oatha have showered before she visited a person?

“I’ll help you make the coffee. Add a little of this,” he said, handing me a silver flask.

“If you say so,” I said, taking it from him.

“You’re not pure Texas witch,
chère
. You old world?” he asked.

“Wherever my people might be from,” I said, “I’m one hundred percent Texan. Count on it.”

“She knows where our Vangie girl is,” Oatha said. Looking at me, she added, “You best not interfere.”

“With what? What are you planning to do to Vangie?” I asked.

Oatha glared at me.

“Momma?” he asked, leaning forward to smell my hair.

“Beau,” I said. “We don’t know each other well enough for me to be able to count the whiskers in your mustache. Why don’t you be a gentleman and step on back?”

“Who says I want to be a gentleman?”

“See how she tastes,” Oatha said.

“What the hell?” I snapped as he grabbed my upper arms in a vise grip. Intent as he was on pinning my arms to my sides as he licked my neck, I guess he didn’t expect me to react as fast as I did with a head-butt knee-slam-to-the-groin combination. He also might’ve forgotten about Mercutio. Merc’s not full-grown yet, so people sometimes mistake him for a house cat. That’s a mistake nobody makes twice if they get on the wrong side of his teeth or claws.

All I saw was a blur of fur as Merc landed on Beau’s shoulder and bit down on his ear.

Beau dropped like a stone from my between-the-legs blow, but he hollered and reared forward at Merc’s bite. He grabbed Mercutio and with three vicious jerks pulled Merc loose. It cost him an earlobe. He flung Mercutio, who sailed through the air, twisted in a half somersault, and landed on his feet. Those Cirque du Soleil guys had nothing on my cat. Merc slid backward a few inches before he got his grip on the floor, and then he was on his way back to us.

Oatha screeched a spell, arms outstretched. I slammed a palm into her back to send the spell wide. She knocked the table over to block Mercutio, and Beau clipped my leg, knocking me to the ground.

He backhanded me across the face and yelled a curse as he grabbed my hair. On the one hand, I was startled by the impact of the floor, the blow to my face, and the sharp stab of pain where his knee dug into my stomach. On the other hand, this wasn’t my first rodeo. As he raised his hand to hit me again, I whipped out my gun. I shoved the barrel against his throat.

“You sure you wanna do that,
chèr
?” I drawled, pressing the gun against him hard enough to dent his flesh. He checked his swing and held out his arms in surrender.

“Momma,” he said. “Enough.”

She panted with rage.

Beau leaned forward and rubbed his thumb in the blood that trickled from my nose. Then he bent forward and kissed my lips. I hit him behind the ear with the butt of the gun. It was no love tap, and his head jerked from the force of the blow. He bit my lip maliciously before he tumbled off me and drew back.

The sound Mercutio made when he pounced from the counter would’ve been enough to send anyone running for cover, and Beau barely managed to dodge away. Beau grabbed a butcher knife from the block and held it out.

“Call him back or I’ll gut him.”

I grabbed Mercutio with my left hand. “No, Merc,” I whispered frantically. “Not now.”

Mercutio squirmed and hissed as they backed away. To Merc, no fight is over if his enemies are still walking. “Not now,” I repeated, trying to soothe him.

“You’ll regret this, you redheaded McKenna bitch,” Oatha said. “I’ll see you cursed. I swear it on all my dead.”

“Y’all wanna threaten me, go ahead. But you might want to check the witch newspapers before you start a fight in Duvall where I’ve got the home field advantage. You won’t be the first who’ve tried. Hasn’t worked out for anybody so far.”

Too late, I saw her going for the door. I released Mercutio and lunged forward but not before she got the closet open. Luckily, there were only mops and buckets inside. Vangie must’ve left when I’d gone to the front door to let them in.

“Gone,” she announced, turning to Beau. “You have what I need?”

Beau wiped his thumb on an old piece of cloth that looked like burlap. “Yeah, Momma. She’s all ours.” He nodded menacingly at me. “You shouldn’t have interfered.”

I tightened my muscles, ready for another attack, and stared them down with a cold glare.

“See you soon,
chère
,” he said as he backed out of the room, my butcher knife still in his free hand.

“Not if I see you first,” I murmured. “By the way!” I called out as they crossed to the foyer. “We’ve got a grocery store and several boutiques in town that all carry soap. I’d appreciate it if you’d use some before you attack me next time!”

The only answer I got was the door slamming.

“You know what, Mercutio? I’m beginning to think Vangie might be right about her stepfolk being murderers.”

Mercutio hissed and then drank from his water bowl, sticking his tongue in and out of the water more times than he needed to for a simple drink.

“He tasted bad, huh? I don’t doubt it.” I tucked my gun away and dabbed my nose with a wet washcloth. “Even though it must be convenient to have a deadly weapon like your teeth handy all the time, I bet there are some days when you wish you could just shoot people.”

Mercutio didn’t disagree.

11

I WISHED I could go back to sleep, but sometimes trouble was like a boulder rolling downhill. Once it got started, it was hell to stop.

The phone rang at ten thirty. I expected it to be Vangie calling me back, since I’d left her several voicemails, but instead it was from Bryn’s house. I snatched it up.

“Hello?” I said.

“Tammy Jo?” It was Bryn’s night security officer.

“Yes, Steve. What’s up?” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Are you planning on coming over here tonight?” he asked.

“I can be,” I said, tossing the throw blanket aside. “What’s wrong?”

“I think it would be a good idea for you to drop by. Mr. Jenson’s worse, but he won’t agree to see Dr. Suri.”

My stomach lurched. Bryn had said Mr. Jenson had a cold. It shouldn’t have been serious. Of course any illness could sneak up on an elderly person. “Bryn should tell Dr. Suri to come to the house so Mr. Jenson doesn’t have to go out.” I mounted the stairs.

“Yeah, it’s not happening. Usually the boss is patient where the old guy’s concerned, but he’s a little ‘the worse for whiskey’ tonight. Did you guys have a fight or something?”

“Or something,” I huffed, propping my phone on my shoulder so I could change clothes and talk at the same time. “But don’t worry. I’ll be over in a few minutes. Hold down the fort.”

I tossed “just in case” sneakers into a tote bag. Bryn and Mr. Jenson will take me as I am, but for a sit-down talk with Mr. Jenson and a face-to-face with Bryn under the “he’s probably really mad at me” circumstances, I wanted to wear something they’d really approve of. Some men bring out the worst. Some men bring out the Sunday best. Mr. Jenson brings out the “what would I wear for tea with the queen?”

I wore black slacks, a blue sweater with tiny pearls around the collar that I’d bought to wear to a baby shower, and a pair of black heels, not too tall, but not shabby either. They had eyelet lace at the edges, making my feet look extra pretty.

I brushed my teeth and hair and put on mascara and lipstick.

When I got downstairs, I tucked a gun and knife into the tote. Then I wrapped up some lemon pound cake with vanilla icing and several cranberry orange scones. I regretted that I didn’t have time to make chicken noodle or vegetable barley soup. I really needed to freeze some for emergencies.

I called for Mercutio, but he was obviously out of earshot because he didn’t bolt into the room. I locked the door and windows, thinking Merc would have to manage on his own till I got back or meet me at Bryn’s. Merc’s an expert at tracking me down.

I got in my car and decided not to take Main Street, knowing it would be the way people would expect me to take across town. I also figured I’d have an easier time seeing anyone who was trying to follow me if I was off the main drag.

I kept an eye on my rearview mirror but didn’t see any headlights. A block from Magnolia Park, I figured I was in the clear. A pinging sound on my roof made me reconsider. I zigged and zagged down the street. It sounded like hail, but it wasn’t. I braked so I could get a better look at the nut that rolled down the windshield and off the hood.

“What the Sam Houston? Are squirrels on the offensive now, too?” I bent my head, straining to get a look into the trees. Not spying any warrior squirrels or other small fur-covered creatures, like hobgoblins, I started the car forward. Then I heard a thunk followed quickly by a second one that caused my car to lurch. As I rolled forward, I felt the car pull to the right and realized what the sound had been. I had a flat tire.

Damn it!

I threw the car into park and grabbed my tote. Not sure which weapon I needed, I tucked the gun into the back of my slacks, which I regretted wearing. First, because they wouldn’t hold the gun as firmly in place as my Levi’s, but also because the pants were a wool blend and therefore dry clean only. What the heck had I been thinking wearing angora and wool? Clearly, I hadn’t totally gotten the hang of being under siege.

I wished I had a knife holder I could strap to my calf. Also, I really needed to think about getting a dagger or hunting knife. Since a butcher knife would’ve been too likely to cut through my tote bag, I’d settled on a steak knife, which against a rib eye on a plate would do just fine, but it lacked the length and razor-sharp edge I prefer to threaten a live opponent with.

A rock slammed into the passenger window and shattered it. I jumped, yanked on my door handle, and rolled from the seat into the street. I used the car for cover. Clearly whoever was attacking was shadowed by the trees on the far side of the car. Behind me on the driver’s side there were houses where people were probably getting ready for bed or watching television.

“Let’s take this fight outside the neighborhood,” I called out in a whisper. “My neighbors have been through a lot, and I’ve sort of gotten a reputation of late that I don’t want to—”

Another rock—a big one by the sound of it—hit the side of the car, crumpling metal. I winced, imagining the dent.

“Damn it!” I snapped. I had a huge deductible, and I wasn’t set to cover any more bodywork on my car. I crept around to the back of the car, peering into the woods. That last rock had been too big to have been hoisted by a hobgoblin. Could it be Oatha and Beau? If so, where was their car? And how would they have known where to find me?

The night air was cool, crisp, and clean. I sniffed and then inhaled more deeply. Unless I was pretty far upwind, there was no way this assault against me and my Focus was coming from Vangie’s nasty step-people. The air smelled earthy and fresh, like leaves after spring rain. I took off my fancy shoes and my footie nylons and slipped them into the tote. I’d be better off in bare feet in the woods.

“Trees,” I whispered, inching toward them. “It’s Tammy Jo Trask. ’Member me? I’m coming to visit. If you could see your way to giving me a hand against whoever’s shooting at me, I’d appreciate it.”