A Tale Of Two Witches Read online

  I was being totally serious—no laughing matter here. “Completely.”

  “And you know what a slightly scented ball sac smells like because?”

  “Well… thankfully I don’t,” I admitted with a small giggle. “It just sounded good.”

  “Can I steal it?”

  “My pleasure. Can I borrow your Birkin bag?”

  I saw an opening, I took it. Always.

  Zelda closed her eyes and let her head fall back on the couch. “Is that the cost of using the ball sac insult?”

  “No, you can have that for free, but I really wanna borrow your Birkin bag. It matches my eyes.”

  “The bag is black.”

  “I know. Black goes with everything,” I told her with an eye roll. Everyone knew that.

  “Fine,” Zelda huffed. “But if you scratch it or get anything on it, I’ll zap you bald for a month.”

  “Can I wear a wig?”

  “Nope. You still wanna borrow the bag?”

  “I’ll get back to you on that one. We done here?” I asked hopefully.

  “Not yet. Fathers square dance?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re sure about that?” she asked with doubt written all over her face.

  “Absolutely. All fathers square dance.”

  “Don’t moms paint your nails?” Zelda inquired, running though my parental qualification list with a perplexed expression.

  It was a legit question. She didn’t have a great mom either. At least mine had just dumped me at an orphanage for witches when I was little. Zelda’s mom had tried to off her—repeatedly.

  “How would I know? Didn’t really have one of those either,” I said with a shrug that I hoped looked uncaring. “I did fine without parental units.”

  Zelda’s silence spoke volumes—huge enormous ones that I never wanted to read—too many words. I hadn’t done fine, but I was fine now, and I didn’t need some absentee evil father figure coming into my somewhat orderly life.

  Yes, it was true that I used to blow up buildings.

  Yes, it was also true that I did a stint in the magical pokey for my misdeeds.

  And yessssss, it was accurate to say I used to get around, but Jeeves put an end to that.

  I was doing so well in Assjacket. A stanky, odiferous ball sac-y, asswank of a father was not on my agenda—not today. Not ever.

  “Is that all you have to say?” I asked, trying to wiggle out of her hold.

  Goddess she was strong. I couldn’t budge an inch.

  “Can you take anymore information without doing structural damage to a building in Assjacket?” she asked.

  “Depends on what other bullshit you have to spout,” I shot back.

  “Fair enough,” Zelda replied with a barely suppressed smile. “Do you know what the word spout means?”

  “Maybe.”

  Zelda shook her head and morphed her iron clad hold on me into a hug.

  “I know I’m not really smart,” I whispered as I held onto her for dear life.

  “I call bullshit on that,” she replied, tucking a stray blonde curl behind my ear. “You may not be, umm… book smart, but you have gifts. My Goddess, you can crawl into people’s minds and read their thoughts. I can’t do that.”

  “That is pretty cool,” I mumbled with a little grin. “But you’re the Shifter Wanker. You can heal people. You’re a big deal. I’m just stupid Sassy.”

  “You will never say that again,” Zelda growled and gave me the mom eyeball, or momball as I liked to call it. “You’re far more special than you think. True, you’re not the sharpest tool in the shed, but you’re gorgeous, have amazing hair and a huge rack. You kicked ass as Christina in Mommie Dearest, and no one but you was insane enough to take the chipmunks in.”

  “I’m not half bad,” I said, warming to the subject. As I rarely received compliments from friends—or anyone for that matter—I wanted her to keep going.

  “You’re about a quarter bad—just like me. So you wanna hear the rest of the news?”

  “I don’t watch the news. It’s boring.”

  “News about you,” she said with a sigh and the tiniest eye roll she was capable of. “You should know this because she’s here in Assjacket.”

  And that’s when the couch blew up and threw us clear across the room.

  “Oh my GODDESS,” I shrieked, and began to smack out the flames on Zelda and myself. “My mother is here?”

  “No,” Zelda shouted quickly as she tackled me before my magic could blast my now smoking house into oblivion. “You mother is not here. I don’t even know who your mother is. I’m not talking about your mother—witch’s honor.”

  “Then who are you talking about?” I demanded in a muffled voice, since she’d knocked the wind out of me in her attempt to save my house—or me—or her—or all of us.

  “Marge. Marge is here.”

  “Cookie Witch?”

  “Yes, Cookie Witch. The one, and hopefully only, sister of our deranged leader, Baba Yaga, is in town. You know, the nut bag that spreads the green goop around the world so our magic doesn’t get out of whack,” she told me while still sitting on top of me.

  “What does that have to do with me?” I demanded, taking in my ruined couch with dismay. “Would it be bad if I replaced my couch with magic?”

  “No. It’s fine. I won’t tell on you,” Zelda said, slowly letting me up. “Marge wants to chat with you.”

  “In French?”

  “Not as far as I know.”

  “Do you think she’ll bring cookies?”

  “Umm… no clue.”

  Sighing, I crawled to my feet and tried to make sense of the mother load of crap Zelda had just deposited in my lap. I was a big girl and I had a ton of magic—not as much as Zelda, but I was no slouch. My building explosions were legendary. However, Marge was a powerful motherhumper. Why in the heck she wanted to chat with me made very little sense. Goddess, thinking was annoying.

  “Look, I love my couch, Jeeves, my house, my rodents, my new friends, and you. I don’t speak French. Marge is weird and she makes me nervous—cookies or no cookies. I blow shit up when I’m nervous. To make weird even weirder, my children are in their nineties except for Chunk who might be a thousand. I don’t need a father that smells like testicles so I’m comfortable saying no to all of it,” I told her, as I wiggled my fingers and conjured up a brand spanking new couch.

  “I followed most of that,” Zelda said. “And do you want to explain why my cats are hairless?”

  “Umm… not really.”

  “They’re pissed,” she told me, trying to bite back a grin.

  “They’re always pissed,” I replied with a shrug. “I waxed the fat shits because they fired my boys. No one can fire my boys except me. I’m their mother.”

  “Mmm… kay,” Zelda said slowly with her eyes squinted in confusion. “Makes a little bit of sense. However, you’re gonna have to deal with the felines when they come out of hiding.”

  “No worries. Besides, I owed them for getting me run out of ten towns before we landed here.”

  “Fair enough,” she agreed. “How is it that I have three pain in the ass familiars and you have none?”

  “Do the chipmunks count?”

  Zelda considered my theory for a second and then shook her head. “Nope. They’re Shifters. Shifters can’t be familiars.”

  I chewed on that for a second and shrugged. “Maybe my familiar doesn’t want me. Goddess, no one did until recently.”

  “Enough with the poor me bullshit,” Zelda reprimanded me like a child. “We were both a hot mess before we ended up in the armpit of the United States. Own your new life. Live it and love the shit out of it.”

  “I’m trying,” I told her. And I really was. Being happy was new to both of us, but Zelda had embraced it way the hell better than I had.

  “Should I tell Marge you’ll talk to her?”

  “Do I have to?”

  Zelda mulled over my request while fluffin
g the pillows on my new couch. “I suppose you could say no, but my guess is she’ll stay until you meet with her. She’s got enormous balls—just like Baba Yomamma.”

  “Shut the front door,” I shouted, completely amazed and totally grossed out. “They have balls?”

  “Actually, no. It was a figure of speech.”

  “Cut the French shit. You know I don’t speak it. They either have nuts or they don’t. Which is it?” I demanded narrowing my eyes.

  Damn it. I was going to start taking French tomorrow.

  “No nuts,” Zelda said with a laugh. “I meant she’s pushy and probably won’t take no for an answer.”

  “Why didn’t you just say that then?” I snapped.

  “Because…”

  “No worries,” I assured her. “I’m gonna take French and then we won’t have this issue anymore. I also got a word of the day calendar. Jeeves is super smart and I don’t want him to get bored with me.”

  “Pretty sure you’re not boring—to anyone—more like terrifyingly amusing or slightly dangerous,” Zelda complimented me.

  Or at least I think she did.

  Whatever.

  “Fine. I’ll talk with Cookie Witch, but as far as the odiferous sperm donor goes… I’m just not sure.”

  “Word of the day?” she inquired, clearly impressed with my use of the word odiferous.

  “Yep.” I sighed in relief that I’d used it correctly. Win-win for me. “I really can’t see myself as a Bermangoggleshitz. I’ll just take Jeeves’ last name.”

  “Kind of uncommon for our kind to get married like humans,” Zelda pointed out correctly. “We just mate.”

  Throwing my hands in the air and groaning, I nodded in agreement. “I know, but what would you do if you found out your freakin’ last name was Bermangoggleshitz?”

  “I feel you,” she said with a thoughtful nod. “What’s Jeeves’ last name?”

  I thought long and hard for about thirty-seven seconds and then shrugged. “No clue, but it has to be better than Bermangogglecrap.”

  I really needed to get all my facts straight about the people I loved. My lack of knowledge was getting a little embarrassing. At least I was aware of my children’s ages now, so I just needed to find out my boyfriend’s last name and I’d be set. So much to fucking do…

  “Did Jeeves ask you to marry him?”

  “No, but I’ll work on it. He hasn’t even asked me to mate with him, but I know he’s the one.” I began to pace the room in a panic. “Why in the Goddess’s name hasn’t he asked me to mate with him? He says he loves me.”

  “Have you told him you love him back?”

  “At least one hundred and twenty times daily,” I assured her and then froze. “Dangit, I know what the problem is. He says that I don’t think I’m lovable.”

  Zelda was silent as she watched me bounce around the room like a ball. Normally she had a comment for everything I said, but not this time. Son of a butthole, did she think the same thing? Was I that freakin’ obvious? Clearly the answer was yes.

  Shitbuckets.

  “I’m not. I’m not lovable, but I’m hoping he’ll love me anyway. I might never believe I’m lovable. He’s perfect and I’m a mess—a magical menace who can’t speak French,” I shrieked. My fingers began to spark ominously and my need to level a building began to simmer in my gut.

  “Dial it back, dude,” Zelda said, lifting her hands to counteract any fires I might start. “You are lovable. I’m lovable. We’re both lovable.”

  “You really think I’m lovable?”

  Rolling her eyes and grunting in pain, she nodded. “If you tell anyone I said it, I’ll deny it, but yes. Being nice is fucking with my rep as an uncaring witch, but you are lovable in a slightly annoying fungal way.”

  “French?” I asked with my lips pursed. My fingers were itching to zap her ass for speaking a foreign language—again.

  “Umm… kind of,” she said with a long put upon sigh. “I meant you grow on people like a fungus—a non-deadly, alarmingly… umm… nice, sweet scented mildew.”

  “With flowers?” I inquired.

  “Absolutely,” she assured me.

  “I can work with that. However, I still don’t believe it.”

  “You better start believing it or you’re gonna screw up your happily ever after. I almost did.”

  “How’d you get there?” I asked, worried that I couldn’t do it.

  “I dealt with my mother—the woman who wanted me dead and didn’t love me,” she admitted in a tone that made my heart and head hurt.

  “I don’t have any clue where my freakin’ mother is,” I shouted, and began to pace again. Deciding I was far too close to detonating my house, I dropped to the couch and sat on my hands.

  “True, but we do know where your father is,” Zelda reasoned.

  “Shitballs on fire,” I muttered and let my head fall back on the soft couch in defeat. “Fine. I love Jeeves too much to lose him. If I have to face my past, I’ll face it. I’ll meet the pungent, noxious, musty, funky asscanoe who claims he’s my father.”

  “More words of the day?” she inquired with a wide grin.

  “Yep—well, not asscanoe, but the rest were. Pretty good, huh?”

  “Excellent, my friend. I’m proud of you, and I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

  “Promise?”

  “Witch’s honor.”

  “So I’ll talk to Cookie Witch and Bermangogglefart. Okay. I can do this,” I said more for my benefit than Zelda’s. “Will you be pissed of we lose a few buildings in town?”

  “Nope, just make sure no one is inside when you blow them up. Cool?”

  “Roger that,” I replied.

  I could do this.

  I had to do this.

  Shit, this was going to suck.

  Chapter Five

  “You’re joking,” I said, narrowing my eyes and wadding my panties into a ball, fully prepared to set them on fire and throw them at his head.

  My strip tease had just taken a wildly wrong turn.

  I was now completely naked and sparking like a firework. The evening had been going so well until I remembered to find out the last name of the man I’d been having fabulously illicit relations with for the past few months.

  Remaining clueless would have been much safer for everyone in Assjacket, West Virginia. Becoming knowledgeable and responsible was screwing with my chi and the lives of the people I cared about.

  “Nope. My last name is Pants,” Jeeves said, unsure why the information was horrifying news to me.

  “You’re name is Jeeves Pants?” I shouted, hoping our children couldn’t hear me screeching like a banshee.

  They were camping in the back yard, but freakin’ Shifters had bionic hearing. I’d already scared the living pee out of them by waxing the cats. Now I was screeching at the nicest man in the world. I was a craptastic mother and an even worse girlfriend.

  “Actually, it’s Kyle Pants. Jeeves is my chosen name. Kyle is my real name.”

  “Can you choose another last name?” I asked, calming myself a bit. It was a reasonable request since he’d changed his first name.

  “Pants is one of the most respected surnames in kangaroo Shifter history,” Jeeves explained, casually moving behind the settee for his own safety. “I take great pride in my name.”

  “Motherhumper,” I mumbled, thinking this day couldn’t get much worse. Sassy Bermangoggleshitz was unacceptable, but Sassy Pants wasn’t any better—at all.

  “What’s the problem, Baby?” Jeeves asked, coming out from behind the piece of furniture and taking my face in his hands.

  His touch made me tremble. His gentleness was humbling. I didn’t deserve someone as good as him. And he certainly didn’t deserve someone like me making his life hellish.

  Sassy Pants wasn’t such a bad name. Wait. Yes, it was, but it was Jeeves’ name. Jeeves was beautiful.

  “Tell me what’s upsetting you,” he prompted, leading me over to our eno
rmous bed and pulling me close.

  “It’s dumb,” I muttered and wrapped myself in the comforter.

  “Nothing you say or feel is dumb,” he said firmly, tucking the edge of the blanket in so I looked like I was wearing a towel made for a giant. “Holding it inside isn’t smart.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Okay,” I said slowly, hoping this conversation wasn’t going to be our last. “Zelda told me my father is Bermangoggleshitz, that smelly, evil, son of a bitch warlock who tried to kill our chipmunks. I simply can’t be Sassy Bermangoggleshitz. It doesn’t go with my style and it sucks ass. Sooooo, umm… I was thinking about asking you to marry me, which I know is a little pushy and not done much in our world, but your last name doesn’t go with Sassy either,” I finished in a whisper and then stared at the floor.

  Oh my freakin’ Goddess in a jock strap. I did not just say all that. Did I?

  “You want to marry me?” Jeeves asked with delight, cupping my chin and raising my eyes to his.

  “Well, yes,” I admitted. “You’re the most beautiful man in the world. You don’t speak French to me and you’re a rock star in the sack. I’m surprised no one has snapped you up yet. I know I’m not good enough for you but I…”

  “Stop,” Jeeves said, raising a brow and giving me a stern look. “I want to marry you, mate with you, love you, have children with you—which means massive amounts of sex—and chain you to me—forever.”

  “Seriously?” I shouted, wanting to get all of that in writing just in case Jeeves changed his mind. The chaining and sex parts were hot.

  “Seriously,” he said with a panty-melting grin.

  “I accept,” I told him quickly, and then jumped on top of him knocking him flat on the bed. “Can we have a real human-like wedding with karaoke and square dancing?”

  “We can have whatever your heart desires, my beautiful witch,” Jeeves promised, pressing his forehead to mine and holding me tight. “Should I ask your father for your hand since we know you have one now?”

  What I wanted to do was play tonsil hockey with the smexiest kangaroo Shifter alive. What I did not want to do was talk about my sperm donor, but Jeeves did have a point. Maybe if Bermanspermdonorshitass wanted to be part of my life, I should treat him like a father.