A Tale Of Two Witches: Magic and Mayhem Book Five Read online

  Sal’s heart clenched into a tight ball. Samantha would have loved to hear Wanda was so invested.

  Pretending to write something on her legal pad, she smiled at the lovely woman again. “How long ago did you apply with the agency to adopt?”

  Heath smiled, twin grooves appearing on either side of his mouth. His classically handsome features beamed with pleasure. “Last October. We thought it would take forever to be approved, but as you know, we have forever to wait,” he joked.

  Wanda actually chuckled and smiled up at her husband, who’d come to crouch beside her rocking chair. She tugged at the collar on his fitted shirt in a loving gesture. “It’s true. We do have an eternity.”

  Sal couldn’t help but let a smile slip, too. “You’re both…?” she asked, a leading tone in her question because she didn’t know their species.

  “Vampires,” they chimed in simultaneously, then laughed. “Well, I’m half werewolf, half vampire.” Wanda smiled again, her face bright, her skin creamy smooth.

  “How interesting. Bet that’s some story, huh?” Sal couldn’t help but be fascinated by these people she wanted to hate. They were all so…so…nice.

  Now Marty, snugly fitted against her husband’s side, chuckled. “If you only knew the things we’ve all been through.”

  The one thing Sal did know was what they’d been through. She knew people all over the globe. She heard the gossip in their paranormal world. In and amongst their kind, these women in particular were legend. “So I’ve heard. I know all about OOPS.”

  Wanda’s face instantly went worried and she was quick to reassure. “But we’re very careful when we accept a client at OOPS. I mostly do a lot of soothing and comforting. Nina’s the muscle of our group. I promise you, I try and stay as safe as possible.”

  But Sal shook her head and held up a hand. “That’s not why I’m here, Mrs. Jefferson. I’m only here to check on the baby’s well-being and observe. Not to judge your chosen path in life.”

  Though, the whole OOPS support group thing did worry her, if she were honest. These women saved all sorts of people from paranormal crisis. Often, the clients they dealt with were in an accidental predicament. The women swooped in, at no cost to the client, and selflessly put themselves on the line to help them learn to adjust to their new lives.

  If what she’d heard were true, some of the stories were incredible—and dangerous. Who’d take care of the baby if something happened to Wanda? Though, Sal already knew she had the answers. They were all right in this room. They were singing songs to soothe an irate baby in the other room. The baby would never want for a thing with this bunch.

  That left her comforted. But that also left Sal deflated. Still with plenty of unanswered questions, but deflated.

  Rising, Sal ran a hand over her hair then held it out to Wanda, who rose instantly, too, and enveloped her fingers with a warm grip.

  “Again, I’m sorry your visit was so…loud. Please feel free to drop by anytime.”

  Sal almost winced as she let go of Wanda’s hand. This was her last connection to Baby Schwartz-Jefferson, and it was slipping away as quickly as sand in an hourglass.

  Fighting the threat of tears, she composed herself enough to ask, “Might I make a suggestion to help with the baby’s care?”

  Wanda’s face relaxed a little, making it clear she was open to contributions. “Anything, of course. Please.”

  “I know you’ll find this unconventional, or maybe even a little crazy. I also know the adoption agency will tell you if you allow the baby’s human side to take over, he’ll eventually stop crying. But I can’t bear to hear his cries either. And it isn’t like you can explain to him the craving will pass like you might with an adult.”

  Wanda’s head tilted to the side. “The craving? The agency didn’t say anything about cravings. They said he just cries sometimes. They actually said to let him cry a little longer each time before rushing in to soothe him. They told us to just ride it out and it would pass. But they didn’t explain much else. Though, his crying surely hasn’t passed, so I’m not sure what you mean by cravings.”

  Yeah. She’d bet that’s what they told her. Naturally, they hadn’t told her the most important bit about adopting this baby because it wasn’t exactly pleasant—or even terribly legal.

  “That’s all well and good, and eventually, I’m positive you’ll be able to wean him, but for now and up to the first year, his development is crucial.”

  Wanda frowned. “Wean him? I don’t understand, but just tell us what we need to do. Please.”

  “For the love of Popsicles, pleeeaase tell us!” Nina shouted from another part of the house, where the baby’s muffled cries continued as another round of “Michael Row The Boat Ashore” began.

  “I’m sorry, I’ve gotten ahead of myself with words like cravings and weaning. Here’s what I mean. He needs brains, Mrs. Jefferson. A baby zombie needs brains.”

  Chapter Two

  Wanda’s mouth dropped open, but Marty rushed in to speak for her friend. “Brains? Like, the morgue and dead people and well, you know…dead people?”

  Sal nodded her head as she made her way to the cheerfully antiqued double doors, preparing to leave. “I do know. I also know the council and all their hags combined wouldn’t know how to deal with a zombie baby any more than they know how to deal with me—a banshee. Banshees are rare, too.”

  “A banshee? What in the name of Twinkies is a banshee?” Nina yelped. “Knew you smelled weird!”

  “Can it, Elvira!” Marty shouted to her. “Please, continue, Miss Brown.

  Sal hid another smile. This Nina was really something. “Anyway, I’m sure they’d like your baby to integrate into the human world just like everyone else, and in some instances, I agree. We can’t have everyone running around willy-nilly, eating livestock or drinking blood from innocents—”

  “Whoever made that rule is a moron!” Nina called out over the baby’s cries.

  Sal almost laughed, but instead, she nodded her head in a sage bounce. “My point is, there are maybe four or five zombies in the world at large. Your baby is rare—so rare. But he’s only half human, and I have it on good authority he needs brains to quell his cravings. I can’t think of a single really good reason why the council prevents you from collecting a brain or two—the person you’d take it from is, after all, dead and won’t miss it. Yes, science could surely use it, I suppose, but in the face of allowing a baby to suffer, I don’t see the harm. However, the council’s all about being as politically correct as possible, and that means letting your baby suffer while he waits for his human half to take over. Council calls it a process. I call it baloney.”

  “Brains? Process?” Wanda repeated, her gaze far away. “My God, it all makes sense. We’re so used to Carl—who happens to be the product of a very tragic accident, by the way—and his broccoli, I guess it just never occurred to us. I feel so stupid!”

  “Carl?” She’d wondered about Carl ever since she saw his name on one of her reports. How did a zombie survive on broccoli alone? Never mind that, how did Carl survive when all his organs were dead? The mysteries of the paranormal would never cease to amaze her.

  Marty nodded and smiled. “Yes. Didn’t you read about him in the intent-to-adopt statement Wanda and Heath wrote?”

  Shit. No. She hadn’t because, well, she was a big fat liar right now. Refusing to become flustered, Sal improvised while giving them a weary look. “I deal with so many cases. It must’ve slipped my recollection of the case.”

  “I’m sure you’re busy,” Marty soothed. “Anyway, Carl lives with Nina, but he’s family to all of us. He’s a fully-grown adult who suffered a spell gone sideways via a witch doctor. We found him while we were on a case. That was Harry’s case, right?” She looked to Wanda for confirmation.

  Wanda agreed with her friend. “Yes. That was a doozy.”

  “Harry?” Sal asked, though she knew she shouldn’t muddy the waters further.

  Marty smil
ed her sunshiney smile. “He’s my sister-in-law’s husband. I can’t explain how Carl ended up not needing brains the way zombies do, but he loves broccoli and almost any vegetable—he’s almost totally vegan. He speaks in one-word sentences most times, and that’s after Nina spent countless hours teaching him how. And he reads, too. Anything and everything. He loses digits we have to duct-tape back onto his hands on the reg, but has a heart the size of half the eastern hemisphere, and he’s truly a treasure. Still, he’d never survive without Nina. I don’t even know if he knows he’s supposed to eat brains. In fact, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even know he’s a zombie.”

  “Is he half human, too?” Sal asked, intrigued. Samantha would have liked to have met someone like her—even if he couldn’t speak.

  Heath shrugged his wide shoulders, reaching for Wanda’s hand to tuck it against his side. “We don’t know for certain. We only suspect. Whatever happened to him when that witch doctor Guido tried to change him back with some hinky spell he’d concocted, it got royally screwed up, and Carl is the product of some poorly executed magic. But he definitely doesn’t eat brains.”

  Sal looked around the spacious room with its enormous potted plants and pictures of friends and family. “Where is this Carl?”

  “With his aunt Teddy on her ranch in Colorado,” Nina called out over the now weakening cries of the baby.

  Wanda bobbed her head. “She has an exotic animal rescue and our Carl loves animals. Nina tries to expose him to all sorts of things—different environments, people and so on. So when our friend Teddy called to see if he’d like to come out for a week of horseback riding and hanging out with her husband Cormac, Nina, nervous Nellie that she is, actually consented. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

  That, too, reassured Sal the baby would at least have some exposure to where he came from. Sort of.

  “Did they give him brains at the orphanage? How could they have possibly allowed him to cry for an entire month?” Wanda asked, threading the fingers of her free hand together in a nervous gesture.

  Sal’s stomach plunged in a downward spiral. “I don’t know, Mrs. Jefferson. I do know the cravings for brains don’t always start at birth. I don’t even know how he came to be at the orphanage, truthfully. They don’t give me that information. I’m the aftercare, so to speak. You went through an adoption agency, didn’t you? To adopt him?”

  Heath nodded, tightening his grip on Wanda’s hand. “We did, and we gave a sizeable donation for expenses for the mother and whatever else was needed, of course. It was our understanding the agency had no history on the baby. The only information they gave us was the little guy was in an orphanage until they matched him with us. They felt it was best to keep his adoption closed and we agreed to do that until he’s eighteen. Then I believe he has the right to know where he came from if he so wishes.”

  The agency. Sal had to fight not to roll her eyes. That damn Bright Futures Paranormal Adoption Agency was a joke. She just didn’t know how much of a joke, or why these nice people were mixed up with a place like that. So she hid her disgust.

  “So no prior history…” Sal muttered and reached for the door handle. “I’m sorry. I wish I could help more. The only thing I can tell you for sure is your baby needs brains.”

  “Uh, nice social worker lady?” Nina interrupted as she came from the back of the house back into the living room. “Any big ideas on where to get the brains?”

  Oh, sure. She had plenty of ideas. In fact, when she left here, she was going to go heist some and drop them on Wanda’s doorstep. But would a reputable social worker know sketchy info like that? Likely not.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Statleon. I don’t know specifics. I only know what I’ve heard in my many years of experience as a…social worker.”

  Wanda held her hand out again, her eyes weary. “You’ve done plenty. We’ll figure it out from here. Thank you, Miss Brown. I hope the next time you see us, it will be under much quieter circumstances.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Jefferson. Both of you,” Sal said, acknowledging Heath as well. “Much luck and happiness with your new family.”

  As she stepped out into the bright sunshine of a May day, it was all Sal could do not to run right back in there and yank the baby from their arms just to keep her attachment to Samantha as close as possible.

  It didn’t matter that she didn’t know thing one about caring for a baby. Her life was her own and she liked it that way, but for Samantha? She’d do anything. Even raise a baby.

  That included pretending to be a social worker—which she felt rather confident she’d pulled off as she raced down the wide front porch steps of the Jeffersons’ gorgeous home, carefully avoiding planters overflowing with spring flowers. Rounding the corner of the street, she began pulling off her demure jacket in shades of a dull brown that matched her equally demure skirt and pulled the pins from her hair to let it flow down her back.

  Pausing for a moment, listening to the sounds of a quiet Saturday afternoon in suburbia, she gulped in deep breaths. As sprinklers chugged and lawnmowers mowed, she swiped at the tears falling down her face with impatient fingers. Tears for the loss of Samantha. Tears for a life she’d never had—nor likely ever would.

  Sal smiled when she saw her motorcycle, parked at the curb lining this beautiful street with its tall oak trees and well-maintained gardens full of bright geraniums and pansies. Riding would wash away her anxiety. At least for a little while.

  Maybe she’d head toward the Poconos after she grabbed some brains for the baby. It was a beautiful day and the drive would do her good, maybe clear her mind.

  As she prepared to sling her leg over the seat, hiking up her skirt to reveal biker shorts, someone grabbed her by the arm and squeezed.

  “Are you goddamn well insane?”

  Oh, good. The party-crashing skinwalker’d arrived. “Depends on who you ask, Private Detective.”

  In an instant, Grey Hamlin’s face was blocking the buttery ball of sun, darkening her day. “Didn’t I tell you after you literally stole the info I had on those people you had to promise to stay the hell away from them?”

  Sal yawned, leaning forward to grab her helmet from her bike’s handle as she shrugged him off. “And didn’t I tell you not even Satan himself could prevent me from checking on the baby? Why would I take your word for anything?”

  He planted his hands on his lean hips. “You’re asking for trouble, Brice. I found the damn baby for you. The baby’s fine. No. The baby’s great. The baby lucked out. The baby hit the parental lottery and I told you that in good faith. Can’t you leave well enough alone?”

  Sal popped her lips as she made a thick braid of her hair, letting it drape over her shoulder. “You’ve known me for what—six months now? Surely you know ‘well enough’ isn’t what I do.”

  Grey huffed a breath and glared down at her with his gorgeous green eyes. “You hired me to do a job and I did it. I gave you the pictures. His birth certificate—everything. That should have damn well been enough.”

  God, Grey was sexy. Still just as sexy as the day she’d gone to him and offered him all the money and information she had in the world to help find her best friend Samantha Carter. “Then why do you give a rat’s ass what I do now that your job’s done? Check cleared, didn’t it?”

  His hard jaw went harder, the stubble lining it dark and prickly. “Call me crazy, but I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  “Hurt? How the hell can I get hurt and why are you following me around like some whipped puppy?”

  Hurt. He had some nerve talking about hurt after he’d broken up with her. That had hurt.

  He clamped his yummy lips shut for a moment, but then he smiled his gorgeous smile, flashing those perfect teeth he’d once told her his parents paid big bucks for.

  “First, isn’t seeing the baby of your best friend, your last link to her, hurtful? Because you can’t tell those nice people in there who you are. The deal was if I found him, you’d shut your mouth about how you
found him because it can cause me all manner of grief.”

  He was right. That had been the deal. But she refused to acknowledge as much out loud. Instead, she lifted her chin and averted her gaze, focusing on a lovely row of holly hedges.

  But Grey tipped her chin up with a finger and forced her to see him. “Second, I rather think of myself as more sensei than puppy. You know, guiding you. Sort of wax-on, wax-off style,” he quipped. Which was just like Grey. When he didn’t want to talk about his emotions, he resorted to jokes.

  She revved the engine of her bike, making sure it was nice and loud, then pulled her body away from his luscious one. “Well, listen up, Mr. Miyagi. You made it clear as day we were over. And that’s fine. You did your job and you washed your hands of me. In my mind, ‘over’ means you no longer trail behind me like stale breadcrumbs and go your merry way while I go mine. So what’s wrong? Is your way not so merry? Do ya miss me, Grey? Isum’s wonewee?” she taunted, because it felt good to lash out.

  Because damn him to hell, she missed him with an ache she’d only felt once before in her life. When her best friend went missing. But the hell she’d let Grey Hamlin see that. The hell she’d let him know the smell of his cologne was killing her right now.

  Or that the feel of his fingers around her arm sent wave after wave of tingles along her skin—or even that his perfect body, with all its angles and edges, didn’t even have to be touching hers to leave its imprint.

  The hell.

  She’d made a stupid mistake when she’d fallen for the guy she’d hired out of desperation. Private Detective Grey Hamlin, in all his dark, mysterious smexyiness, had sucked her in and spit her back out once the job was done. He was right. He had done what she’d paid him to do.

  Found her friend and then later, when she’d learned Samantha had a baby, she’d asked him to find the baby, too.

  And he’d done that.

  He’d also dumped her the moment he’d located the baby.