What's a Witch to Do Part 11

"We're not really all that close," Belle says. "We only went to her house because we were leaving Dixie's Bar at the same time."

"Well, have you heard anything? Rumors? People talking about how she, or anyone, doesn't like the job I'm doing, or that they have anything against me?"

Both girls shake their heads no. c.r.a.p. "Are we in trouble?" Meg asks.

"Well. You did try to harm another person, that can't go unpunished. You're both banned from cla.s.s for the next two weeks, starting tonight. Use this time to reflect on how stupid what you did was. That spell could have backfired, or worse. Now, go pack up your kits and I'll see you in two weeks. And don't tell anyone what you've told me, not even Cheyenne, alright?"

"Yes, ma'am," the girls mutter.

"Go on," I say. The girls scurry out of the room like a shot. I follow a few seconds later.

Okay, so Cheyenne has a book of black spells. Interesting but not definitive. Even I have a book or two on black magic. It's only natural for witches to dabble in the forbidden, and I speak from experience. When I found out Dennis had a fiance, I hexed him. I don't know if he became impotent, but Granny found out and ripped me a new one. But if Cheyenne has skirted the dark side once and is actually adding black spells to the book, then that's a horse of a different color. She wouldn't go to the trouble of acc.u.mulating them unless she planned to use them.

Through the kitchen window, I view the wicked witch of the hour in my backyard dressed in super-tight jeans and an obscenely low-cut top, chatting with a smiling Adam. I'm no expert in flirting, but even I am not oblivious to what's going on back there. Her I'm not surprised by; but him ...

He leans in and speaks, causing her to burst into laughter and "accidently" place her hands on his pecs. With her, he doesn't flinch or act as if her hands are coated in acid. A stab of I-don't-know-what pierces my chest, and I bristle. He must like 'em whorish and evil. No accounting for taste.

"Oh lord," Collins says behind me. "That man doesn't stand a chance."

I turn around and find her and Debbie staring out the window too. "Eww," Debbie says.

"Hey, how you two doing?" I ask.

"Tired," Debbie says. "This wedding is sucking out my soul."

"Well, just remember, this time next week you'll be in the Bahamas sipping mai tais with your charming husband."

Collins puts her arm around Debbie. "And we will be here not so quietly hating your guts."

Auntie Sara rushes in, lips pursed in disapproval as always. "Everyone's arrived."

"Thank you," I say. "Attention everyone! Please go into the dining room so we can begin." All the women in the kitchen obey, and I poke my head out the back door. "Cheyenne, cla.s.s is about to start."

"I gotta go," she says to Adam with a pout. "Think about what I've said."

"Oh, believe me, I will."

I suppress an eye roll as she walks past me. His eyes follow her, but when they meet my hard ones, he smiles sheepishly. This time I don't stop my eyes from revolving.

All nineteen women and three men wait around my table, where I take my place next to Auntie Sara at the head. Most students have their pads out except lazy Cheyenne and Debbie, who already knows the spell. Debs just likes to come to see all her friends and lend a hand. Cheyenne keeps glancing in the direction of the backyard and even gives a little wave. This will not be a fun cla.s.s for her.

"It's recently come to my attention that I have not been giving you a well rounded education," I start. "Now, I know no one in this room is guilty of performing black magic, but not all witches are as honest as the Goodnight Coven. I realized you need to know how to properly defend yourselves against those ... monsters," I say as my eyes dart to Cheyenne, who is still gazing into the backyard. "So we will spend the first half practicing a protection spell, and the other making a charm bag. Auntie Sara?"

Auntie Sara flicks her fingers at me while saying, "Efflo aeris," and I sneeze. Ivy used to drive me nuts with this hex, among others. Auntie Sara does it again, but this time I hold up my hand to focus my power and say, "Reverto," and Auntie Sara sneezes this time. "Now, please note that this is an all-purpose deflection, but it won't work with some higher-level hexes or if the witch attempting a hex is drawing more power from the ley lines. Still, it's a good start. Okay, break into partners and take turns. Sara and I will move around and observe."

I spend the next half hour strolling around the house watching a lot of people sneeze. Most get it quickly, both the hex and deflection, except for the few near the backyard who can't unglue their eyes from a sweaty Adam. Those ladies require some glares before returning to the task at hand. Sophie and Cora keep giggling as Rosalie Dupres gives Cheyenne a sneezing fit, snot running down her nose. That's what she gets for not paying attention. After the fourth try, Cheyenne rushes for a tissue.

Since she's culled from the herd, I follow her to the bathroom. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," she says after blowing her nose.

"You know I thought you, of all of them, would find this easy as pie."

"I'm just a little distracted," she says as she tries to step around me out of the room.

I block her way. "Yes, my cousin is very distracting. At least you seem to know the hex."

"Yeah, well, everyone's known that one since kindergarten," she says defensively.

"And what other hexes do you know? I hear you've been working on some others."

Her eyes narrow but before she can comment Auntie Sara rushes in. "That fool Brandie has a nosebleed from sneezing too much. Blood's pouring everywhere."

"h.e.l.l's bells." Great, instead of grilling a suspect, I have to go ice a nose.

When that crisis is over, I call them back into the dining room to demonstrate how to make a charm bag to ward off hexes. This proves to be less dramatic, just mixing herbs and stones and infusing them with magic. We even finish ten minutes early. I work the rooms, saying goodbye to those who don't stay for wedding talk. Debbie holds court in the living room with about seven cousins gushing about her dress and lingerie for the honeymoon. Just talking about it makes her glow. My crowning achievement, that girl.

"She's so happy," Collins says as she sidles up beside me by the front door. "We should all be so lucky."

"Yeah," I say with a sigh. "Hey, I have a few minutes if you want to work on that illumination spell."

"That's okay. Debs and I are going back to my place to tackle the never-ending wedding c.r.a.p. The seating charts still have to be done."

"Hey, Mona," Brandie, whose nose is still red, says, "I can't find my black water vial."

"Brandie, what the heck are you doing with black water anyways?" Collins asks.

"I don't have it for black magic, just luck," she whines.

"If I find it, I'll keep it for next time," I say.

"Thanks," she says as she leaves. "See you Sat.u.r.day at the coven meeting!"

"One of these days she's gonna blow up the whole town," Collins says.

Time to do some detecting. "Hey, I almost forgot, what is the name of that restaurant in Richmond you recommended to Debbie? The one downtown near Croatoan?" Which just happens to be Lord Thomas's base of operations. "I'm thinking of taking her there after the co-op."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she says.

"You go to Richmond a lot, don't you? Can you think of another place?"

"I really don't get there that often. Just take her somewhere in town."

"Yeah, maybe." Okay, time to switch tactics. "There is something else I wanted to speak to you about. In private."

"Sure." A few girls wave goodbye as we move onto the porch. I lead her toward the swing where we sit. "What's up?"

"Okay, this is something I have been considering for some time, and I want to run it by you before I do it." Collins nods. "How would you feel about being named my successor?"

She does a double take, eyes narrowing. "I'm sorry?"

"As of right now, if I die, Erica Fitch is next in line for High Priestess. Now, I chose her ten years ago because she was the only viable option. That's changed."

"Why me?" she asks, nose crinkling.

"You've got a good head on your shoulders, you're talented, and the others respect you."

"People don't respect me," she says with a scoff. "Not like you."

"Yes, they do. You've come a long way, Collins. You're disciplined like no one else here. You have power inside you. And most importantly, you care about people. Everyone knows it." I pat her hand. "Now, I don't antic.i.p.ate dying anytime soon, but I'd still feel better if I name you."

She mulls this over, indecision all over her face. "I mean, you can if you want, but ... "

"What?"

She shifts uncomfortably in the swing, pulling her hand away. "Well, and I don't really mean to offend you, but the coven is your whole life and ... I-I don't want that for myself. I got my own problems without taking on other people's. I mean, it's great you do, but it's not for me. I don't want to be at everyone's beck and call twenty-four seven. Sorry."

I stop myself from taking a literal breath of relief. "That's okay. Like I said, it was just something I was thinking about."

She nods. "And I am beyond flattered that you think I could fill your shoes, I really am. You have no idea what that means to me." She smiles humbly before standing. "I'm gonna go rescue Debbie." She starts walking toward the door but stops halfway and turns around. "Okay, I know I'm wasting my breath, and I can't really believe I'm uttering these words, but ... have you considered Cheyenne?"

"Cheyenne? Why?"

"I know what everyone thinks about her, but that's just one side of her. She's just always wanted the job, and maybe if she had a chance of getting it, she'd turn onto the straight and narrow. When she applies herself, she can be really powerful. She taught me quite a few things."

"I'll think about it," I say.

"Just putting it out there," she says as she walks inside the house.

I can now breathe that sigh of relief. I knock Collins down the suspect list to the bottom. If she wanted the post, she'd jump at the chance for me to name her. That's a load off. One down, three to go.

I settle into my seat with a smile to enjoy a few moments of peace. I love this swing. I'd never leave it if I could. I've spent hours out here reading and watching people go by as a gentle breeze blew. I catch the faint whiff of honeysuckle. Wish I could stay here and pa.s.s out, but it is not to be. Cleaning up is next on the agenda. I'm about to push my tired carca.s.s upright when Adam and Cheyenne walk out, he with his hands in his pockets and she brushing against him more than necessary. "So ... just think about it, huh? We usually get there around ten and get fun around eleven," Cheyenne says.

"I will definitely think about it," Adam says with a huge grin.

"Don't make me wait," she says in sing-song. She steps off the porch. "See you tonight!"

"Maybe," he says.

While still walking she turns around, backing toward her car. "Definitely."

I roll my eyes and rise, walking past him with a hard glare. The bridal party and Auntie Sara are just leaving, and I kiss my sister goodbye. And then there were four. I guess I'll work on the kitchen so I can make dinner, oh joy and bliss. The table and counters are covered with herbs and used tissues from all the sneezing. Yuck. I just finish with the counter when Adam walks in. The kitchen is small so it's hard to ignore him, but I do my d.a.m.ndest. He glances at me before opening the fridge, pulling out a huge package of hamburger. "I'm going to make spaghetti and meat sauce," he says. "Do you have any oregano?"

"You don't have to make dinner, you've done enough," I say shortly.

He drops the meat on the counter right next to me. "Fine." The werewolf stalks outside to the backyard, and a few seconds later that saw starts again. Okay, is he p.i.s.sed at me? I'm not the one planning on necking with a psychopath. Whatever. He should just be glad he's a werewolf so he can't catch anything from her. I'll bet Typhoid Mary had nothing on that hoochie.

I find the rest of the dinner ingredients and get to work. Since I spend most of my day cooking up potions and charms, by the end of the day the last thing I want to do is more of that. I only cook a few times a week, and before the girls came I was just a master microwaver. I turn on the news and pour myself a gla.s.s of wine as I cook. Murder and rape are rampant per the TV. Wonder if I'll end up as a top story. If they use my driver's license photo, I'll die a second time. I switch the station to The Big Bang Theory. When I'm done with dinner, that's it. I'm sending the girls off to bath and bed, climbing into mine, and pa.s.sing out.

Just as the water begins to boil, Sophie and Cora stroll in, their faces and hands covered in varnish. Without protest they go upstairs to shower. I tidy up the living and dining rooms, sighing the whole time. Collins is right about me. I have no life. I work, I clean up after people, and I sleep. Even if by some miracle I get a life, I'll be too exhausted to live it. Whoever wants my job must be out of their mind. Or a mo-ron.

I set the table and dish out dinner. There was too much meat, so I also fry up two burgers for Adam. Just because I'm a little disappointed in him doesn't mean I should be rude. He's deep in thought, glaring at the wood he's cutting as if it owes him money, when I poke my head out. "Dinner," I shout.

He looks up at me, still scowling. "Thank you."

The girls are still showering, so soon it's just him and me at the small table. I sip my wine and keep my eyes on the TV, picking at my food. He eats with gusto, no doubt gathering fuel for tonight's physical exertion. "This is very good."

"Uh huh," I say. "What did Cheyenne say?"

"Nothing pertinent."

"What's your impression of her?"

"Um ... uninhibited," he says with a chuckle.

"Did you get around to talking about me?"

"A little."

Freaking blood from a stone. "Well, try and remember the mission when you're dirty dancing with her tonight. Just my life on the line, is all."

He sits back in the chair and folds his arms across his chest. "Why are you mad at me? I told you I'm gaining her trust. Nothing more."

"Just don't wh.o.r.e yourself out on my account, okay?"

He c.o.c.ks his head to the side. "Would it bother you if I did?"

I open my mouth to protest, but shut it. I smile instead, and say, "I don't give a d.a.m.n who you sleep with, that's your business. Just don't use me as an excuse. That's all I'm asking."

Thank the good G.o.ddess the girls chose now to walk in. They sit and we adults smile as if everything is hunky dory. The rest of dinner is spent chatting about their day. They especially loved the hardware store. I doubt they've ever been inside one, judging by how awed they sound talking about it. I miss the days when plumbing supplies brought excitement. To be young again.

The doorbell rings just as we finish eating. Adam and I exchange a concerned glance before we both stand to answer it. "Stay here," I tell the girls. Adam beats me there. He hangs by the stairs, but as I walk closer, I hear the sound of two children arguing on the other side of the door, and don't even need to ask who it is. Tamara and her fifteen-year-old son Shawn and ten-year-old daughter Piper, in her white karate outfit, stand on the other side when I open it. My G.o.dchildren resemble their father, DeShawn, tall and good looking with light brown skin and black hair. Even in this day and age, it was a minor scandal when Tamara married an African American. He was a wonderful man, just a lousy husband. He cheated on her with at least three women, though she gave as good as she got. She married husband number two a week after the divorce. That one lasted a year. Lonnie is number three.

"Hey, guys," I say.

The trio walk inside, and Tamara kisses my cheek. "Hey, girl." She locks eyes on Adam, and her eyes expand to alien proportions. "Um, h.e.l.lo."

"Tamara, this is Adam."

Adam extends his hand. "Nice to meet you."

"The feeling is definitely mutual."

Jeez Louise, I'm gonna have to start handing out drool buckets at this rate. "Hey, there's spaghetti on the stove. Help yourselves," I say to the kids. "Tamara? Wine?"

"Read my mind," Tamara says. After we get the kids situated, Tamara and I pour our wine and retreat onto the porch swing, where we've spent many a night talking. The evening is crisp but not cold; in other words, lovely. "You didn't tell me he was so cute."

"If you like that type."