Southern Witch - Would-Be Witch Part 1

Would-Be Witch.

Southern Witch.

By Kimberly Frost.

A would-be battle-with a very real zombie.

The boys from Texas don't stand around and talk when there's trouble, and they especially never hide from a fight. So five of them, with various b.l.o.o.d.y wounds, wrestled with the slimy, charcoal gray corpse of Mrs. Barnaby, who was tossing them around like she was a mad bull just out of a pen.

I yanked the lid off my Tupper ware and waited to glimpse some body part of hers, the swampy smell of decay choking me. Then her gnarled black hand thrust out and grabbed Stucky Clark's beefy arm.

I propelled myself forward, raising my voice. "Go now and peace do keep. Return at once to your sleep." I tossed the pa.s.sionflower potion, splas.h.i.+ng it on the pile.

The room sucked all the air from my lungs, and I dropped to my knees, gasping, trying to pull some breath back in. I couldn't. I was dying, suffocating for real. My mouth moved, screaming soundlessly for help, then everything went black.

Acknowledgments.

I would like to thank the following people: My parents, Chris and Audrey, who listened indulgently to my endless childhood monologues. It turns out you were building an author. My closest childhood friend, Sandy, who read my writing before it was fit to print. Thanks for being an audience of one for many years.

Members of the Houston Fiction Cartel, especially Gene and Bethe, who taught me how to critique. All my charismatic and witty friends from WRW, especially Lorin, Brenda, Roman, John, Jason, Donna, Christine, Susan, Dennis, and Beth. Nancy Pickard for the first encouragement I ever got from a published novelist. My new friends at the Houston-area chapters of RWA for providing me with a great writing community in my own back yard.

All my family and friends, too numerous to mention here, who have encouraged me along the way, especially Michael, Vincent, Diane, Melissa, Sherry, Sandy and Dan, Stephanie, Rick H., John S., and Mrs. Millie Mohan. My wonderful and numerous friends from the medical community, especially Margaret, Brent, Larry and Jane, Sally, Sh.e.l.ley Halley, and Elizabeth Jones Cochran.

My agent, Elizabeth Winick, for your faith and guidance. It was a fortunate day for me when we met. My editor, Leis Pederson, for your wonderful insights. Books are very lucky to find themselves in your hands.

My best friends and critique partners, David Mohan and Bonnie Johnston. I am grateful to you for far too many things to mention here. I'll just say . . . Thank you for everything.

Chapter 1.

Jenna Reitgarten is awfully lucky that my witch genes are dormant, or I'd have hexed her with hiccups for the rest of her natural-born life. She stared at me across the cake that had taken me thirty-six hours to make, a cake that was Disney on Icing, and shook her head.

"Well, it's a really pretty cake and all, Tammy Jo, but it's got too much blue and gray. It might be good for a little boy, but Lindsey just loves pink-"

"The castle stones are gray and blue, but the princess on the drawbridge is wearing pink. The flower border is all pink," I said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

"Uh-huh. I'll tell you what. I'll take this one for the playroom. I'll put the other cake, the one with the picture of Lindsey on it, in the dining room. And I can't pay two hundred thirty dollars for the castle, since, after all, it'll be a spare."

"Why don't I just sell you the sheet cake?" I asked, glancing at the flat cake with the picture of her three-year-old decked out in her Halloween costume. Lindsey was dressed, rather unimaginatively, in a pink Sleeping Beauty dress.

"And what would you do with this one, honey?" Jenna asked, pointing at the multistory castle, complete with lakefront and shrubbery.

"Maybe I'll just eat it."

She laughed. "Don't be silly. Now, you'll sell it to me for a hundred thirty dollars or I'll have to complain to Cookie that you didn't follow my instructions, and then-"

"I followed your instructions," I said, fuming. "You said 'think fairy-tale princess.' Well, here she is." I flicked the head of the sugar-sculpted princess, knocking her over on the blue bridge.

Jenna gasped. "I've had just about enough from you," she said, standing the princess back up. "You know we order once a week from this bakery for our Junior League meetings. Cookie will have your hide if you lose my business."

Cookie Olsen is my boss, and "Cookie" fits her like "Snuggles" fits a Doberman. As a general rule, I don't want Cookie mad at me, but I was in the middle of remembering all the reasons I don't like Jenna, which date back to high school, and I really couldn't concentrate on two annoying women at the same time.

"You can buy the sheet cake, but you can't have the castle cake."

She huffed impatiently. "A hundred seventy for the castle cake, and that is final, missy."

I'd never noticed before how small Jenna's eyes were. If she were a shape-s.h.i.+fter, she'd be some kind of were-rodent. Not that I'd seen any shape-s.h.i.+fters except in books, but I knew they were out there. Aunt Mel's favorite ex-husband had been eaten by one.

I come from a line of witches that's fifteen generations old. They've drawn power from the earth for over three hundred years. Somehow I didn't think Jenna would be impressed to hear that though.

Jenna flipped open her cell phone and called Miss Cookie. She explained her version of the story and then handed the phone to me.

"Yes?" I asked.

"Sell her the cake, Tammy Jo."

"No, ma'am."

"I'm not losing her business. Sell her the cake, or you're fired."

"Yes, ma'am," I said.

"Good girl," Cookie said.

I handed the phone back to a very smug Jenna Reitgarten.

"Bye-bye," she said to Miss Cookie and flipped the phone shut. She dug through her wallet while I put the castle cake into the box I'd created for its transport. I took out the sheet cake, which was already boxed, and set it on the counter.

"That'll be forty dollars," I said.

"What?"

"Cookie said I could either sell you the castle cake or get fired, and I'm going with option B. A cake this size will feed me for a month," I said. "Longer if I act like you and starve myself."

Jenna turned a shade of bright pink that her daughter Lindsey would have just loved. Then she tried to reason with me, and then she threatened me, waving her stick arms around a lot.

"Sheet cake, forty dollars," I said.

Her complexion was splotchy with fury as she thrust two twenty-dollar bills at me. "Lloyd won't hire you. Daddy uses him to cater meetings and lunches. And there are only two bakeries in this town. You'll have to move," she said.

"Well, I'll cross that drawbridge when I come to it," I said, but I knew she was right. Pride's more expensive than a designer purse, and I can't afford one of those either.

Jenna stalked out with her sheet cake as I calculated how long I could survive without a job. I'm not great at math, but I knew I wouldn't last long. Oh, to heck with it. Maybe I will just leave town. If Momma and Aunt Melanie came back and found me gone, it would be their fault. I hadn't even gotten a postcard from either of them in a couple months, and the cards that came were always so darn vague. They never said what they were doing or where they were. I really hoped they weren't in some other dimension since I might need to track them down for a loan in the very near future.

Like most ghosts, Edie arrives with the worst kind of timing. It's like getting a bad haircut on your wedding day, making you wonder what you did to deserve it.

There was a strange traffic jam on Main Street, and as I was trying to get around Mrs. Schnitzer's Cadillac, Edie materialized out of mist in the seat next to me. It certainly wasn't my fault that it startled me. I rammed the curb and then Mrs. Schnitzer's rather substantial back b.u.mper.

I held my head, wis.h.i.+ng for an ice pack or a vacation in Acapulco. Then I got my wits together and moved my car into the drive of Floyd's gas station and out of traffic. I grimaced at the grinding sound I heard when I turned the wheel too far left. I hoped the problem wouldn't be expensive to fix, given my new unemployed status. With my luck, it would be. Maybe I could just avoid left turns.

Mrs. Schnitzer didn't bother to get her Caddy out of people's way. She slid out from behind the wheel of her big car and sidled up to mine. She wore a lime green polyester skirt that showed off her own substantial back b.u.mper, which, except for the dent, matched her car's perfectly.

She asked me a series of questions, like what was wrong with my eyes (plenty, since I can see Edie, my great-great-grandmother's dead twin sister), was I on drugs (not unless you count dark cocoa), and what did I think Zach would say when he found out (which I decided not to think about).

Edie was decidedly silent in the copilot's seat. She was dressed in a black-sequined flapper dress, which is a bit much for daytime, but I guess ghosts can get away with some eccentric fas.h.i.+ons, being invisible to most people and all.

"Here Zach comes now," Mrs. Schnitzer said, beaming.

"Great," I mumbled and checked my rearview mirror. Sure enough, a broad chest of hard muscle covered by a tight, white T-s.h.i.+rt was approaching.

Mrs. Schnitzer said, "Tammy Jo ran right into the back of my car. And I've got to get home to get ready for the mayor's party. I don't have time for this nonsense today, Zach."

In other words, "Deputy Zach, straighten out your flaky ex-wife." I clenched my teeth, resenting the implication.

He played right along with her. "Y'all go on, Miss Lorraine. I'll deal with this."

She wiggled back to her car and drove her dented b.u.mper off into the sunset. Zach tipped his Stetson back, showing off dark blond curls and a face that incites catfights.

"Girl, you're lucky your lips are sweeter than those cakes you bake, or I'd have revoked your license a long time ago."

I'd had a fender bender or two in the past. Mostly, they weren't my fault.

"Edie showed up-"

"Tammy Jo, don't start that. It still chaps my a.s.s that I paid that quack Chulley sixteen hundred bucks to get your head shrunk, and all I got for my trouble was a headache."

"I told you it wouldn't work."

"Then you shouldn't have gone and wasted my money. Now listen, I'm busy. You go on home and get ready for Georgia Sue's party, and I'll talk to you there."

"We're driving separate?" I asked. Zach and I have an on-again, off-again relations.h.i.+p, but we were supposed to be on-again at the moment, as evidenced by the fact that he'd slept over the night before last and I'd made him eggs and bacon for breakfast.

"Yeah, I'll be late," he said. "I was at T.J.'s house when they called me to give them a hand with this. Longhorns were on the thirty-yard line. You believe I'm out here today?"

On game day? Frankly no. If there's no ESPN in heaven, Zach will probably pack up and move to h.e.l.l. The fact that he forgets our anniversary and everybody's birthday every year, but has the Longhorn and Cowboy football schedules memorized as soon as they come out is just one of the reasons our marriage didn't survive. Another small problem was the fact that I still believe in the ghost sitting silently in my pa.s.senger seat, and he felt a psychiatrist should have been able to shrink her out of my mind with a pill or stern talking-to.

I looked around at the traffic jam as Zach examined my front end. "So what's going on here?" I asked. He didn't answer, which is kind of typical. "What's happened?" I repeated.

He looked at me. "What's happened is you crashed your car, which means I'll have to call in another favor to get it fixed. Unless you've got the money to pay for it this time?"

Now didn't seem the right moment to mention I'd gotten fired. "I'm going home," I announced.

"You think you can handle it?" he asked, his lips finally curving into that s.e.xy smile that could melt concrete.

"Yes."

"Good. Gimme some sugar." He didn't wait before stealing a wet kiss and then sauntered off just as quick.

"Hi, Edie," I said, as I maneuvered back into traffic. "I really wish you wouldn't visit me in the car."

"He still has quite a good body."

"Yes."

"Are you together?"

"Kind of." Like oil and vinegar. Mix us up real good and we'll work together, but sooner or later, we always separate.

"So it's just s.e.x," she said, voice cool as a snow cone.

I sighed. "You shouldn't talk like that."

"He is forever preoccupied and yet often overbearing, an odd and terrible combination in a man. It wouldn't matter so much if he could afford lovely make-up gifts, like diamonds."

"Can we not talk about this please? I've had a rough day."

"I heard you quit your job. Well-done."

"I didn't quit. I can't afford to quit. I was fired."

"That's not what I heard."

"Well, what did you hear? And who from?" It unnerved me that there were ghosts that I couldn't see strolling around spying on me. Did they watch me in the shower? Did they watch when Zach parked his boots under my bed? I blushed. Edie noticed and laughed.

I stole a glance at her exquisite face. With porcelain skin and high cheekbones, she was prettier than a china doll. She wore her sleek black hair bobbed, either straight or waved, depending on her mood and her outfit. Her lips were painted a provocative cherry red today. Rumor had it that Edie had inspired men to diamonds-and suicide. It was generally accepted in my family that one of her jilted beaus had murdered her, but she never shared the details of the unsolved 1926 New York homicide of which she'd been the star.

"How are you?" I asked.

"I'm dead. How would you be?"

I opened my mouth and closed it again. I had no idea. Was it hard being a ghost? Was it boring? She was very secretive about her life, er, afterlife.

"What made you visit today?" I asked, still trying for polite small talk.

"I heard you showed some backbone. I decided to visit in the vain hope that you might be turning interesting."

I frowned. Edie could be as sweet as honey on toast or as nasty as a bee sting. "I'm so sorry," I said. "For a minute I forgot that this isn't my life. It's your entertainment."