A Witch In Time Read online

  “Right?” he grumbled in agreement. “I told them this, but apparently Assjacket’s thespian society is the laughing stock of West Virginia.”

  “First of all, never say the world thespian again. And secondly, because I enjoy asking questions that I don’t want the answers to… why?”

  Dad’s grin was positively contagious and my own grin pulled at my lips in response.

  “The last show they produced was a musical version of Silence of the Lambs. Several audience members got eaten and the Fava Bean number was lewd,” he replied trying desperately not to laugh.

  “Bullshit.” I slapped my hands over my mouth as I too tried not to laugh. Eating paying customers was not funny. “You’re making that up,” I accused through splayed fingers.

  “How could I even begin to make something like that up?” he demanded, insulted that I would doubt him. “The disaster before that was a musical version of Friday the 13th.”

  Fabio, my several centuries old father figure of questionable maturity, could hold back no longer. He fell to the floor and laughed so hard tears streamed from his eyes. He could barely breathe. I was now convinced this horrific story was true… which was why I was appalled and furious with myself that I was in hysterics too.

  “Did anyone die during that one?” I squeaked, hating myself with each request for more details.

  “No,” he choked out, as he wiped his eyes and admirably attempted to pull himself together. “A few stab wounds.”

  “Wait,” I said as I punched his arm. “When you say eaten do you mean eaten?”

  “Yesssssss,” he hissed back in hysterics. “But it was only a hand and a foot if I’m remembering correctly.”

  I heaved a huge sigh of relief coupled with a gag. I’d envisioned total cannibalism.

  “Thank Goddess,” I grunted. “Wait, I’m confused.”

  “About the Fava Bean number?” he asked with an enormous grin.

  “Um… no—absolutely not. Those are three more words you shall never utter again. About the bribe bags on the table.”

  “Ahhh,” he said as he got back up to his feet and began placing the contents of the bags on the table inches from my fingers. “There’s a caveat.”

  “And that would be?” I asked as I closed my eyes when he plopped a rockin’ pair of Jimmy Choo pumps on the table next to an obscene pile of green cashmere that matched my eyes perfectly.

  “They’ll let me have the job if you agree to star in the next show.”

  My dad was a dick of epic proportions. I was not an actress. I couldn’t sing to save my life and I wasn’t going to have any part of a life threatening musical no matter how much I coveted the booty on the table.

  “Nope,” I said with my eyes squeezed shut so hard I felt a headache coming on.

  “Come on Zelda,” Dad pleaded.

  I could hear him placing more items on the table and I was seconds away from shrinking the clothing on his body to extra small. This was so unfair.

  “You listen to me,” I hissed as I sat on my hands and kept my eyes firmly closed. It was too risky to have the use of my hands. I’d either zap him, which wasn’t nice, or I’d grab the stash on the table and run. Neither scenario was attractive or happening. “I’m a witch who heals dumb ass Shifters when they get booboos. I do not have the time to humiliate myself in front of the masses on stage. I do fine with that in my daily life. The answer is a big, fat, hairy no.”

  “All right then.” He sighed dramatically. “I suppose Sassy might like the black Hermes Birkin bag with the gold hardware.”

  “Do you hate me?” I shouted as I threw myself over the bag like it was a fumbled football in the Super Bowl. “Sassy’s coloring does not go with this bag. It would look much better carried by someone with red hair. And you’re a total dick.”

  “I’ve been called far worse,” he replied with a chuckle and then sighed dramatically. “All of this is yours. I was just hoping you would humor an old warlock. I so wanted to be in charge of an extravaganza.”

  He gently pried me off of the bag and placed it in my arms along with all the other apparel. I stared down at my windfall and wanted to cry. Dad sat down next to me and put his head in his hands… and he wasn’t trying to trick me anymore. Shit.

  “I don’t need this stuff. You can give the bag to Saaaa… ssaaay,” I whispered as I felt the need to either put my head between my knees or breathe into a paper bag. “You have to stop spending money on me. I don’t deserve any of it. I called you a dick. I’m pretty sure daughters calling their fathers dicks isn’t good.”

  “No, no, it’s fine,” he assured me as he put his arms around me and squeezed. “I wasn’t there for your teenage years so you owe me about four years of calling me a dick.”

  “Only four?” I asked with a small grin.

  “Okay, five,” Dad conceded generously with an adorable lopsided grin.

  We sat in silence for a few minutes. It felt so nice to be held by him. I was thirty, but in his arms I was a little girl—a wanted and adored little girl.

  “I can’t believe I’m going to say this… but I’ll think about it,” I muttered as I shook my head in defeat. “However, I refuse to sing or dance or talk that much.”

  “I can work with that,” he promised with a smile that lit his whole face.

  “What’s the show?” I asked as I played with the clasp on my brand new, ridiculously overpriced purse.

  “It’s a surprise. I don’t even know. Bob the beaver and Roger the rabbit are writing it,” he said as he absently smoothed my hair back.

  “Holy hell, that sounds dangerous. Roger’s a perv. If he writes a song and dance filled Debbie Does Dallas, I’m out.”

  “Me too,” Dad agreed with a laugh and a shudder. “Let’s just wait and see what they come up with. It might be fun and we’ll get to spend some real quality time together.”

  Famous last words.

  CHAPTER 2

  “No, no, no, I’m not writing the show. I’m the set designer,” Roger the rabbit Shifter slash my therapist assured me with a doctor-ly chuckle. “Bob the beaver writes all the shows.”

  “Did he write the last two?” I inquired with raised brows as I made myself comfortable on Roger’s offensively plaid office couch.

  “Um… yes,” he whispered and blanched. “Those were dark times for Bob.”

  “And the people who got eaten and stabbed? I’m guessing those were dark times for them too?” I added as I pinched the bridge of my nose and winced.

  “Well, yes. We had quite a few lawsuits on our hands. The Town Treasury went bankrupt after those very unfortunate incidents,” he replied as he scrubbed his hands over his face. “Thankfully, your dearly departed Aunt Hildy was able to heal most of the victims.”

  My Aunt Hildy had been the Shifter Whisperer before me. She was gone now and I owned the job—or rather, the job owned me.

  “So what would you like to talk about today?” Roger inquired carefully, as I was here for a session.

  He was terrified of me. This was a good thing. I’d randomly discovered his porn addiction much to the displeasure of my over-active gag reflex, but it kept us on an even keel. Hippocratic Oath be damned. If the little turd gossiped about our sessions, I’d reveal his penchant for watching people hump. Win-win.

  I didn’t want to do our sessions, but I’d lost a bet to my dad and had to visit with Roger too many times to count—nine to be exact and thank the Goddess I’d already done one. I’d suggested we do them all in one day, but Roger almost had a coronary. Since I was the one who would have to heal the little shit if his ticker blew up, I generously agreed to twice a week—on different days.

  “I was thinking you could watch me meditate for an hour,” I explained, getting into a yoga position and winking at him.

  “Zelda.” His forehead furrowed and his nose twitched.

  Damn, he looked like a rabbit even in his human form.

  “Roger,” I shot back imitating his stern tone.

&
nbsp; “Fine.” He gave up and shrugged. “Why don’t we just chat about things that won’t help you grow as a person or get over your fear of abandonment or make you realize you’re a lovable person?”

  “Sounds good to me,” I said wanting to throw one of his big head-shrinker books at his face.

  We sat in silence for a few minutes while I watched Roger rack his brain for a subject that would keep him safe from my itchy magical fingers.

  “I have to say, I’m very excited that you’ve agreed to star in the show.”

  He chose the wrong topic of conversation.

  “Um… Dude—may I call you Dude?” I snapped sarcastically, not waiting for a reply. “I have agreed to nothing. Nothing. I want no part of a theatrical production where innocent by-standers bleed profusely.”

  “I see,” Roger stated and jotted a few notes on a pad.

  “What did you just write?” I demanded as I tried to peek at his notebook.

  Roger eyed me for a long moment and I squirmed a bit in my seat.

  “Fear of success,” he said sadly. “Fear of mass adulation. Fear of love.”

  “Did you drink before our session?” I asked as my eyes grew large and the need to smack his head off his shoulders consumed me.

  “It’s only two o’clock.” Roger checked his watch and nodded with satisfaction. “I never drink before four.”

  “Good to know.” I made a silent promise to myself to check the session times of my future appointments with the good doctor. “I’m not doing the show. I told Fabio I would think about it. And the only reason I’m considering it is because Fabio wants to fit into Assjacket and it might help curb his gambling hobby.”

  “I thought you were calling him Dad now,” Roger noted with surprise.

  “I am,” I hissed. “I just wanted to be sure you knew who I was talking about.”

  “Right.” His brows rose as he scribbled some more crap on his pad.

  “Fine,” I shouted as Roger jumped in terror and his pad flew over his head. “You win. I’ll talk about all the painful and embarrassing stuff you want me to puke up. You happy now?”

  “Only if you are,” Roger stated calmly as he hopped off his chair and placed a bucket at my feet.

  I stared at it for a moment and then laughed. “That was a metaphor. I’m not going to really hurl.”

  “My bad,” Roger apologized as he quickly retrieved the pail and sat back down.

  Again we sat in silence staring at each other.

  “Why don’t we pretend this is our first session and you get me up to speed on the last few months,” he suggested.

  “I thought I wasn’t supposed to pretend in here,” I said, trying to figure out how to get out of what I’d just committed myself to.

  “It’s a game,” he replied evenly. “Just go with it.”

  “Whatever.” I uncrossed my legs and grabbed a pillow from the couch. I squeezed it tight to my chest and took a deep breath. I knew I needed to try here. Roger might be a perv, but everyone I trusted in town swore he was a great therapist.

  “My name is Zelda and um… I’m a witch with a few minor-ish problems. I really don’t want to be here, but since I have outstanding blackmail information on you, I feel fairly confident that what’s said in the office, stays in the office.”

  He nodded and smiled. It was a real smile and I felt a tiny bit bad for giving him so much shit, but this was difficult for me. However, I wasn’t a weenie or a quitter. I was a semi-out-of-control witch with issues who needed to deal with said issues. I could do this. Maybe.

  “Soooooo, Roger, the last year has been a doozy. I spent nine months in the stanky magic pokey for killing my cat who miraculously rose from the dead and turned out to be my dad. Interesting coincidence. To be fair to me, it was a total accident,” I said as my eyes narrowed at Roger while I waited for his reaction.

  “Accident, you say?” he questioned with a partially raised left brow.

  “I know it looks bad since I didn’t like the mangy little son of a bitch, but I’m a healer not a killer,” I insisted. “When I heard the first crunch I'd freaked out so much that I hit reverse and drive simultaneously a few times before I got out of my car and screamed bloody murder. So as you can see it was an accident. However, to make things right, I buried Fabio in a new Prada shoebox and left the super soft shoe bags inside as a blanket and a pillow. After Naked Dude's—or Dad as I now call him—resurrection, he complimented me on his cozy coffin.”

  “That was a lovely touch,” Roger agreed making me like him a little more.

  “Thank you, I thought so.”

  “Welcome,” he replied warmly. “Let’s continue.”

  I ran my hands through my wild red hair and groaned. This was ridiculous and I was losing it, but I wasn’t a quitter—twenty-two minutes to go.

  “Of course, it didn't matter to Baba Yaga, the most powerful and horrendously dressed witch in existence, that it had been an accident or that my cat slash dad had actually lived. I had to serve time in the pokey with a heinous cellmate, Sassy the Violent Witch from Hell who now, much to my horror, is my neighbor in Assjacket. And on top of that shit show, Baba Yonutbag is apparently dating my dad,” I told my head shrinker.

  “Do you have a problem with your dad dating?” he queried, supplying the normal therapist response to a child mentioning a parent was seeing someone.

  “Nope. He’s a big boy and can make his own mistakes.”

  The rabbit said nothing—just smiled and made some more notes.

  I groaned and wondered if there was a straight jacket somewhere in the office that I could put on. Nope, no straight jacket… I let several minutes tick by feigning deep thought. When it reached really awkward silence I started talking again.

  “After my release, I found out about Aunt Hildy who left me her house—a dead aunt I never knew. My task ended up being avenging her, taking over her job as the Shifter Whisper and maintaining the magical balance in Assjacket, West Virginia—far easier said than done. You idiots are violent.”

  Roger bobbed his head politely in agreement.

  Pacing would help me blow through the rest of my recent history faster. Sitting was making me itchy or maybe it was that I was getting to the parts I didn’t like. Standing up and tossing the pillow on the couch, I jogged the perimeter of the room and refused to make eye contact with my porno-loving therapist.

  “Anyhoo, my beautiful and very dead Aunt Hildy came back as a ghost and was instrumental in helping save the day. She’s gone now, as you know. I wanted her to stay with me,” I said quietly and slowed my pace. “She’s gone on to the Next Adventure with her mate, Chuck the bear Shifter, who died in the magical battle with the honey badgers.”

  The battle that had been the fault of my mother…

  My mother was one of the main reasons I needed therapy. Her lack of any maternal instinct and her attempts at killing me kind of screwed with my chi, not to mention my self-worth. It also made me wary of relationships and believing people loved me. Blahblahblah.

  I liked to think of it as water under the bridge especially since I’d very recently turned my mother into a mortal. She was now incapable of hurting anyone ever again. Or so I’d thought… Therapy was a bitch and teaching me I hadn’t quite let go of the unwanted, unloved little girl I used to be—or still was.

  “This sucks,” I muttered as I checked the clock on the wall. Shit, fifteen more minutes to go. I was a witch of my word so I resumed my pacing and dove back in.

  “If this is too difficult we can talk about something else,” Roger offered kindly.

  “I’m not a weenie.”

  “Never said you were,” he replied, cowering a little.

  “I can do this,” I said as I curbed my need for movement and sat back down on the couch. “You really should get a more attractive couch.”

  “So noted,” he said with a chuckle.

  “I can help you shop for that,” I volunteered in a pathetic attempt to steer the subject toward buy
ing stuff—something I enjoyed greatly.

  “I’d like that.”

  Fourteen and a quarter minutes to go. He didn’t fall for the diversion tactic. Crap.

  “Sooooo, my mission or parole requirement thanks to Baba Yodumbass was to become the new Shifter Whisperer—or Shifter Wanker as I prefer to go by. Coming from a rare line of healers, my job makes unfortunate sense. I've never stayed anywhere very long and have few friends to show for it. Sassy does not count. She’s insane and ruined my favorite jeans. Belonging somewhere is new to me and it makes me happy which is not good. So, I refuse to get used to it. I’m a survivor and have gone most of my life as a loner. Less messy that way.”