Wicked By Any Other Name Part 6

Thanks to the weekend coming up, traffic through Moonstone Lake was fairly heavy as people stopped off either to visit the shops or for a bite to eat.

Stasi was grateful to be kept busy as she a.s.sisted customers with lingerie choices. She was pleased to see that her new stock of silk and lace chemises in bold colors went fast.

"I always spend a fortune when I come in here," one woman told her as she added five leopard print bustier sachets and two in black velvet to her selections. "And your shop always smells so good." She inhaled deeply, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s rising up and attracting Horace's avid attention. "I wish you sold it in potpourri, although I don't know if my boyfriend would like our house smelling like my favorite mochaccino."

Stasi did an internal happy dance as she mentally added up more than $1000 in purchases. The mental reminder that she'd need the money if Carrie won her lawsuit tried to intrude, but she hip-b.u.mped it out of her mind. She'd had her self-pity party that morning and she refused to let thoughts of the woman ruin the rest of her day.

"Perhaps I'll start stocking various potpourris," Stasi said.

"I think that's why I buy so much when I come in," the woman chuckled. "It's like walking into my favorite coffee house." She glanced outside where a man stood in front of a dark blue BMW, a cell phone to his ear while he stared impatiently at the shop window. "I guess his patience is wearing thin, but once he gets a load of what I bought he'll change his mind. I'm sure I'll be back when we come up in a month. You'll have your Halloween ghost town going on then, won't you?"

Stasi nodded. "A lot goes on then."

The woman picked up her bag and left.

"Those definitely aren't real," Horace announced, once the door closed. "Think her boyfriend paid for them? Along with that a.s.s implant that's easy enough to see she had. It sure looked like Botox and a chin implant had their way with her, too. She's got more plastic in her than Barbie. Maybe you should take her suggestion and stock potpourri."

Stasi shook her head. "That's Emma's specialty with her body and bath line. Besides, then the individual scents wouldn't be as unique." As if her name had been uttered, she was called to the front window. Her fall-themed display included a burnt orange chemise and chocolate colored camis and boy shorts hung on padded silk hangers, and autumn toned leaves were scattered along the shelf, along with twinkling orange lights strung along the back of the display. This was her favorite time of year and Stasi tended to go all out.

She looked out the window and stared at Carrie Anderson, who stood across the street in front of Sam's Dry Cleaners. She carried plastic-wrapped clothing in one hand, a coffee to-go cup with the bakery's name imprinted on the side in the other, and a dark scowl on her face. Stasi knew if looks could kill she would have been molecules scattered to the wind by now.

"Why do you hate me so much, Carrie?" she whispered. "What started all this?"

Horace peeked through the linen half drapes at the back of the window. "Is she saying witch or b.i.t.c.h?" He studied the shape of Carrie's mouth as she spoke.

Stasi turned away. "To her it means the same thing."

"Too bad you can't zap her back a few centuries. Let her try to survive with no indoor plumbing, no grocery stores, and having to take care of all her kids without the benefits of television and DVDs. Wouldn't it be nice to see her grubbing away in a garden? Or working as a scullery maid? Come on, Stasi, can't you just imagine her emptying chamber pots?"

"Don't tempt me."

"When do you think the wizard will show up again? He's going to hear about her ranting and raving, unless she's ranted and raved to him, and you know he'll come up if that's happened."

It was bad enough that Stasi saw the man in her mind's eye with his bronzed blond hair and brilliant blue eyes, but the thought of those d.a.m.ned red hearts over his head was enough to send her screaming out into the street. Not only was he a wizard, but he was representing her worst enemy-and all Stasi could think about was the way his lean and muscular body filled out his perfectly fitting suit.

"Who filed this paperwork?" Trev's searing gaze moved from one frozen face to another seated along one side of the conference table. Each face held the deer in the headlights look because they all knew one of them was about to be mowed down. Trevor didn't believe in taking prisoners when he was on a rampage. And right now, he was ready to inflict serious damage on the one who had created what he called an unholy mess.

"She-she said you were amending the lawsuit and wanted it done immediately," stammered Crisdean, a mere two hundred years old. His ordinarily pale skin was even lighter with terror. "You were out of contact range."

Trev turned on his a.s.sistant, but Mae was impervious to his temper. "And you allowed this?" Danger rode every word.

"As if a young wizard with law degrees from three different universities would listen to a mere clerk." The young man blanched at hearing the words he'd arrogantly thrown at Mae.

Trev didn't even think about reining in his annoyance. "Mae is in charge when I am not here. She knows more about magickal law than any of you will ever know. And I don't care what any of my clients say. When I am not here, you will inform them I will take care of their problems when I return." He advanced on Crisdean with the stride of a predator. "How large is your caseload right now?"

"I-ah-I've only been here a few months, sir."

Trev nodded. "Then I would say you need to understand just how this office works. And the best way to do that is to start at the bottom. Starting today you will be working in the archives. I understand files from the years 1400 to 1623 are in disorder. I suggest you put them in proper order. Mae will oversee your duties." p.r.o.nouncement made, he strode out of the room leaving behind one stunned young lawyer and others heaving sighs of relief that it wasn't them.

"You were harsh on him," Mae said, closing the door behind her as she entered Trev's office.

"Just as my father was rough with me when I did the same thing," he replied, staring at the paperwork strewn across his desk.

"Mrs. Anderson was trouble the moment she stepped into this office. If I didn't know better, I'd say other forces were at work here." She poured coffee from the waiting carafe and set the cup in front of Trev.

His head snapped up. "Why would you say that?"

"Because a colleague of Anastasia Romanov's has had trouble in the past. One Jasmine 'Jazz' Tremaine, originally Griet of Ardgla.s.s, destroyed one Clive Reeves, who used dark magick to prey on vampires to gain immortality, and she once broke into Dyfynnog's castle to steal a pair of bunny slippers he had created. She later vanquished him and earned the wrath of Angelica, the director of the Protectorate. All of the witches in her cla.s.s at the Witches' Academy have been in trouble at some time or another. Considering they were expelled from there in the year 1313, it's only natural they'd misbehave from time to time. But no one expected them to still be in the mortal world 700 years later." Mae allowed herself a tiny smile. A clear sign of approval on her part, which totally floored Trev. He'd always thought his a.s.sistant was more than a bit tightly wrapped and frowned on any form of misbehavior. He wondered if there was more to the woman than he could even imagine. He also doubted there was a way for him to find out. Mae was better than the CIA when it came to keeping secrets-whether they were hers or someone else's.

He shook his head. Since he rarely bothered with witch matters, except in a legal context, he hadn't heard the tales of the wayward cla.s.s of witchlings.

Mae waved a hand and a stack of paper appeared in front of Trev. He skimmed through the pages.

"It seems these witches like to irritate people."

"I'm sure they consider it a gift." She settled more comfortably in her chair. Her burgundy knit suit complemented her silver hair. "The thirteen witches may be scattered across the world, but they can also act as one. If a call goes out, the others will be there to help."

"According to this report, Jazz Tremaine only used the help of her vampire lover and a ghost to level the mansion and release the vampire wraiths."

"Some do prefer to work on their own. Anastasia is well loved by the others. They won't allow Carrie Anderson to win this case."

His ego was p.r.i.c.ked. "Then they don't know me."

He didn't miss Mae's smile. "What?"

"Some things happen for a reason." She stood up. "I am off to show young Crisdean the archives." She walked to the door.

"Mae?"

She stopped and looked over her shoulder.

"Was I ever that arrogant?"

Mae smiled. "Much worse, but you changed your mind about the importance of the office help after your father set you to do my work for two weeks."

"That was the longest two weeks of my life," he agreed. He stared at the pile of paper. "I may have to make another trip up to Moonstone Lake and stay a few days. I can always keep up with my other work from there. See if I can get a room at the resort where I stayed before." He went on to issue further instructions.

Mae nodded, not bothering to write down a word. She never forgot a thing. Trev knew that for a fact.

"And while you're up there you should have an excellent chance to get a better handle on Carrie Anderson," she said. "Something tells me there's more than meets, the eye with her."

Trev looked up sharply. "You didn't say that before."

"Yes, I did, but you didn't listen." With this she opened the door and left, carefully closing it behind her.

Trev leafed through the stack of papers and picked up the most recent report on Anastasia Romanov. The first thing to catch his attention was an arc of s.h.i.+ny red dancing hearts at the top of the paper.

"Oh h.e.l.l."

"I'm going down to Grady's to pick up a sandwich. You want one?" Blair stuck her head in the door.

Stasi glanced at the clock, surprised to see time had pa.s.sed so quickly. "Definitely. One of their mesquite tri-tip and a Diet c.o.ke."

"Done." Blair studied her face. "Are you okay?"

"If you mean do I still want to turn Carrie into something disgusting, yes, I do, but I think I can restrain myself."

"Good. Be back in a few. I put a Closed for Lunch sign out. We can use the table at my shop."

"Don't I get a sandwich?" Horace called out from his vantage point in the dressing room. The resorts had covered their slopes with artificial snow, and a group of cheerleaders from UCLA had stopped in a little while ago on their way up the mountain for some skiing. Thanks to them, Horace hadn't left his corner by the dressing room mirror. One of the young women had joked she felt as if she had a voyeur in the room and it was a good thing the gargoyle was made of stone.

Stasi didn't bother to tell her the truth. One, she wouldn't have believed her, and two, Horace really didn't have that much enjoyment in his life. He'd gotten more than his share that morning and was still on Peeping Tom overload.

"You're not eating anything in there," Stasi told him. "We're eating at Blair's."

The gargoyle appeared between the silk curtains and hopped over to the counter. A few words and he was perched on it.

"Do you think Wizard Barnes would take my case?"

"Your case as in what? Lifting the curse?"

Horace nodded. He reached up and touched one of his horns. "It's really an excessive sentence for such a minor crime."

"Head of the largest troll community in the world, then you insulted the wizard who cast the spell along with his family two hundred generations back. That could have something to do with it. You have more than your share of bad habits, Horace. What about the time when you racked up a $1000 phone bill with all those 900 number calls? This is why people get annoyed with you."

"Ah yes, Tiffany." He heaved a deep sigh. "She had a voice that brought all sorts of images to mind and worth every penny."

"Except you weren't the one paying." She locked the register and picked him up, tucking him in her leather tote bag.

Stasi didn't need a key to open Blair's shop door since the doors were attuned to both witches. She set Horace on the red and chrome 1950s table and wandered around the shop.

She paused at one shelf that held several dolls, one of them blonde and blue-eyed. Stasi reached around and pulled the string at the back of the doll's neck.

"Tell me a story," the doll said in a slightly tinny voice.

"If none of you had kids, why so many dolls?" Horace asked.

"Some of us collected them," she explained. "Perhaps because we didn't have a normal childhood. And I think deep down we knew that some items could become collector's items. Thea has original Barbie dolls and designer wardrobes you wouldn't believe for them." She moved on to several Hummel figurines. "Plus having a collection gives us a little depth in whatever life we're living at the time. Except for Maggie, who prefers her gun and knife collection."

"That's one scary witch."

"Not really." She thought of the Nordic-looking blonde who was happiest when she was kicking a.s.s-and working in private security allowed her to do just that.

"She should work as an enforcer."

"They'd like that, but she refuses to become a vampire. Not that it would be an easy turn, since a vampire can't drink our blood."

Horace shuddered. "Gross."

"Says the one who eats bugs."

"Hey! They're full of protein. Plus, tell me the last time you've seen a spider around here," he pointed out.

"At least you're good for something," Blair teased, walking in with a bag that smelled of rich barbecue spices and balancing two large drink cups. She carried her booty over to the table and set it all out including a half sandwich cut up in gargoyle-sized bites.

"You didn't forget the seasoned fries, did you?" Stasi asked. She loved the fries with tangy seasonings on them as much as the barbecued sandwiches.

"Of course not, and it's a large order." Blair arranged napkins and wet wipes-absolutely necessary with sandwiches that were as messy as they were delicious.

"What about me?" Felix, the Kit-Kat clock, asked from his hanging position on the wall.

"You can't eat our food," Blair pointed out.

"I bet I could if you'd let me try," His tail twitched in a very un-clocklike manner, while his large eyes ticked back and forth.

"There are days when I'm convinced dogs would be less trouble." Blair sat down and picked up her drink. "But then I remember how they shed and drool and some have nasty gas and the feeling goes away."

"Bogie's not like that!" Stasi argued.

"You forget about the night he got into the salsa." Blair made a gagging sound. "Don't worry. I love your furry buddy, he's sweet." She chuckled. "Not like Fluff and Puff, whose to-do list details every insidious idea known to witch. Although there are times they come in handy when someone p.i.s.ses us off," she muttered. "Maybe Jazz should rent them out. She could make a fortune."

Stasi studied her friend, whom she felt she knew as well as she knew herself.

"Did anything happen at Grady's?" she asked, half-afraid to inquire. She'd noticed more than one town resident hurrying past her shop as if even that was tainted. "Did someone say something?"

Blair looked up and smiled, recognizing her friend's worry. "Nothing more than the usual customers arguing politics and others discussing the upcoming Halloween festivities. And Grady feels that Carrie is nothing more than an empty-headed idiot and wouldn't even make a good statue. His words. He admitted he hoped we'd turn Carrie into a c.o.c.kroach."

Stasi unwrapped her sandwich, allowing the rich aroma of mesquite-grilled meat and grilled onions to invade her senses. She picked up one of the cups that held Grady's homestyle hickory sauce and drizzled it over the meat. The sounds she uttered as she bit into her sandwich were not unlike those of a woman in the throes of pa.s.sion.

"If Grady wasn't seventy-two I'd marry him for his cooking alone," she murmured.

"Considering we're both much older than he is, we'd be the ones robbing the cradle." Blair set the large paper dish of seasoned fries between them and squirted out a liberal pool of ketchup.

"Sometimes I wish we hadn't told them what we are." Stasi looked off into the distance, her sandwich momentarily forgotten.

"People are more sophisticated now. We would eventually have had to use glamours to change our appearance. How many more times could we have come back here as our nieces or granddaughters or even split up as we've done?" Blair brought up. "And then basically sneaking out here every month to the lake because we know there's power there, even if we don't know what it is."

"I wish whatever it is would give up its secrets. We did ours. Only fair to reciprocate." Blair dipped her fries in the ketchup.

Stasi pinched off some meat and allowed her hand to drop. Tiny teeth nibbled away with amazing delicacy-Bogie couldn't resist the barbecued meat either.

"You need to talk to Trevor Barnes," Blair announced.

"He's not my lawyer." Stasi concentrated on her food.

"As if a little thing like that's stopped us in the past. Maybe he can reason with Carrie."