Werecats and Werelocks (Collection) (17 page)

Addsion's heart beat harder. “And look what we have now, eh? An unemployed, ex-immortal warwolf,” she joked, hugging him harder and burying her face in his neck, soaking in the scent that was all Caleb.

"Werelock. God, the indignity of it all. Will you ever get that right?"

She smiled against his neck. “Will you miss your magic powers? Mere mortals have to actually purchase their beer at the store, you know. Heaven forbid."

"Only when I can't zap your clothes off,” he joked and then his face grew serious. “I've been meaning to ask you something. What's this? I found it on the counter when we came back from the pumpkin patch.” He reached behind the pillow and pulled out a piece of white paper.

Oh. She'd forgotten about that. She leaned back, her eyes opening briefly and she chuckled, splaying her hand across his broad chest and snatching the note from him with the other. Thank God she'd called Nathan bright and early the day after Halloween. It had taken some explaining and she'd sat through an hour-long lecture on living wills, but he'd backed off, swallowing her story about a medical scare. “It was my on-the-spot will. You know, so my sister would be clear on who got the one plate I own in my desolate cabinets."

With a sly grin, she tore the letter to her lawyer up and let the small pieces fall over them in a shower of white.

"You know what?"

"What?"

"I say we get me a plate too. So your plate won't be so lonely."

"Reallllly?"

"Reallllly."

And Addison wholeheartedly agreed, letting her lips do the consenting.

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Having trouble with your Abra Cadabra? Need a little zing to make your magic wand sing? Are you a vampire who hopes to overcome your fear of blood? A fairy who can't fly without the aid of a stewardess and piloted plane?

Then Castoffsphere is the place to help you with all of your witchcraft ills and it's where you'll find Felicity Speillman, wannabe witch.

Think of the place Harry Potter went to learn a little sorcery, filled with bumbling misfits. Felicity was sent to Castoffsphere by her parents in a last ditch effort to hone her sorely lacking witch skills. Felicity needs to get a big fat A if she hopes to obtain the coveted broom she needs to complete her schooling. However, dyslexia and a spell gone awry bring with it their own bag of magic tricks.

Christian is a genie and he's been sucked out of his cushy bottle in L.A. by the very confused Felicity. He looks like Yul Brynner, smells like heaven and he claims Felicity is his wife.

Alrighty then. Who is Felicity to argue with a man who may quite possibly hold the key to her magic troubles and looks like her favorite dead movie star? Felicity and Christian strike up a deal rivaling David Copperfield, but as she grows more attached to her newly acquired magic man, someone shows up and spoils all the fun. She wants Christian back and she'll stop at nothing to get him.

Go figure, huh?

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"Um ... wisps of willow, trees of time, heed to me upon this rhyme. Feast nor famine, treat this well ... um ... um ... damn,
why
can't I remember this friggin’ spell?” Felicity Speillman shook her auburn hair and rubbed her forehead with her thumb, circling the spot between her eyes.

Sighing, she shook her handy-dandy magic wand and looked at the tip, confused. Okay, so this like had to be the loser magic wand, ‘cause it sure as hell wasn't magic
anything
. Magically cost her a fortune, magically sucked up some spare pocket change, but magically work?

Nah, that would be too damn easy.

Flipping the pages of her notes, she searched the jumbled mess she'd written down far too quickly. Always in a rush ... served her right.

This witch crap was hard.

Squaring her shoulders, she tried once more. Blowing out a puff of air, Felicity began again. “Wisps of willow, trees of time, heed to me upon this rhyme. Feast nor famine, treat this well, leave here now, no longer,” she stumbled, searching her mind for the right word, “no longer ... oh! Dwell! Yes, that's it, dwell!"

Felicity made a small circle in the air with the wand and pointed it at the terra cotta planter. The wand hummed lightly and spit a flicker of light out of the end of its silver tip.

And then, nothing. Nada. Not shit for shineola.

So, okay, she wasn't going to graduate from the Harry Potter School of Sorcery anytime soon. Turning her back, she flipped through her notes again, pausing at the distinct, subtle beginnings of a rumble.

Knowing full well what came next, Felicity ducked, covering her head and diving for the floor.

The pretty terra cotta planter exploded, leaving behind a trail of clumped dirt and bits of green ficas tree. When the dust cleared she poked her head out and scanned the room.

Oh, Rico was back!

The planter that once sat by her fireplace was replaced by her overweight orange tabby, Rico. His hair stood on end, rather like he'd just hit the fluff cycle of a dryer, but, other than that, he was looking good. Felicity scooped him up and scratched his ears, hugging him to her until he meowed his protest.

Rico leaned into her caress, purring with pleasure. “Where have you been, mister? Never mind, that was a stupid question. Some far off dimension, right? I'm sorry, bud. I think my wand has a kink. I promise to read those damn spells more carefully."

Now, if she could just find the freakin’ spell to clean this crap up.

Sighing, she figured the mortal way was probably the best route for a loser witch like her. If she could only keep track of all of the spells in her head, she'd be just fine. But, noooo, she had some short-term memory issues that prevented her from memorizing much. Oh and she was dyslexic. That always made for interesting spell-casting.

So, she wrote it all down, but then, she'd forget where she wrote it or she just lost the stupid piece of paper altogether.

This was bad for a witch.

Very bad.

So bad, her parents had sent her to Castoffsphere. Where misfits were shipped off to ... well, to learn not to be such misfits ... Which rather made her an outcast amongst all the other witchie girls in her witch community.

Well, bibbedy-bobbedy-boo. Screw them and screw making friends with the in-witch crowd. She didn't need them. She liked it here on Castoffsphere. Felicity didn't care if they made fun of her back home or even when they pretty much outright mocked her. She didn't.

But on the off chance that she did, someday she was going to conjure up one hell of a whammy and make them all envious. So there. She mentally stuck her tongue out at every single witch who'd made fun of her since she was little and realized she wasn't like all the other witches.

Until that highly unlikely, auspicious occasion occurred, Felicity was going to clean up this mess and she'd do it with her cleaning spell, if she could only remember the part about the broom.

The last time she did the cleaning spell she said something wrong and ended up with a car in her living room.
Zoom-zoom
.

Rico meowed hungrily at her, twirling his tail around her ankles.

"All right already. Lemme see what I can dig up. You've been off-worlding. Surely they fed you there? And then, I've got to clean up this mess."

Digging around her kitchen cabinets, she fished out a can of tuna for Rico. Setting it on the counter, Felicity wiggled her hips. The can's top automatically popped open and hovered over the garbage basket, neatly dropping in. Breathing a sigh of relief, she smiled absently. The simple spells that required little or no memorization were the easiest.

She just had to be really careful where she wiggled. It got ugly if she was at a Can-Can sale in the grocery store...

Rico purred gratefully and Felicity set about the task of cleaning up the mess she'd made. Would she ever get this right, she wondered as she swept the last of the ficas from the floor. Felicity had been in Castoffsphere for almost a year and she was still failing “Spell Casting for Dummies” by a mile and the way she was going, there was no way she'd ever get her graduate level broom.

Eyeing her own decrepit broom in the corner of the room, Felicity frowned. If she didn't get a new one soon, her suspension would go and then she'd really be shot down.

Her parents specifically told her there would be no more money until she had at least
passable
grades. Easy for them to say. Did they have any clue how difficult this was? Magic came like breathing to them ... Hers came in short gasps or, more commonly, in one long, disastrous exhale.

Her exam was coming up and if she didn't produce something spectacular, it was over. She'd be shipped off to an alternate universe to be like the head lady. She bit her lip. Maybe she could aspire to become “head fry lady."

Felicity groaned. There had to be a way. She didn't want to spend the rest of her life not earning her place in the family.

She needed the whammy of all whammies and she needed it soon.

As Felicity entered the Black Sheep Bar, she paused, looking around the parking lot for Lila's scooter. Today was Lila's big day, her exam for “Flying: A Natural Extension of You” and seeing her scooter meant it must not have gone well.

Well, shit. Lila would be in a crappy mood, but it also meant she'd be around a little longer, thereby easing Felicity's fear of being left here in this dimension alone.

That is just awful. To gloat over your friend's misery? How could you, F
?

Oh, hell, that was just a shitty attitude. What kind of friend was she anyway? If it hadn't been for Lila, she'd be sunk in this dimension. Six solid months of Lila cheering her from the sidelines and the best she could do was be glad she still had her wheels.

Squaring her shoulders, Felicity pushed the door of the pub open and slapped on the best “sorry you blew it” smile she could muster. Peering through the hazy darkness, she found Lila at the bar, hovering with a sputter of her wings over a large mug of beer. The dim aura of her glow, muted now by alcoholic consumption, was a fiery orange.

Lila was snockered.

She was always orange when she was drunk.

Felicity strolled over behind her and deepened her voice. “Hey, mighty fine wings ya got there, good lookin'. Can I buy ya a drink?"

Lila looked up, lost her concentration, sputtered and landed on the bar with a tiny thunk.

Felicity quickly scooped her up in her palm, righting her. “Aw, hell, Lila, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you."

Lila sat up with a wobble and hung her head. Her long, mint green hair fell to her waist. “I failed, Felicity. I got an
F
, for like
fuck up
. Or,
fat chance you'll never fly, loser
.” She hiccupped, her almond shaped, amethyst eyes wellingwith tears. “Why-y-y-y can't I fly?” Lila sobbed.

Felicity's heart tugged. Lila had been the longest guest of their circle of friends on Castoffsphere. “I dunno, Lila. But, I do know, you're the prettiest fairy here on Loser Dimensions-R-Us."

"Pretty—preeetttty?” she shrieked. Though her voice barely registered to most, Felicity heard it loud and clear. She cringed in sympathy. “Pretty? What will that get me? A little roll in the sack with some loser. And I do mean loser. Have you seen the size of a fairy's package? Oh-h-h ... What the hell is pretty going to do for me? I want to fly,
F
, F-L-Y! Do you hear me? Soar like a bird. Shit, I'd settle for flying the friendly skies like a seven-forty-seven!"

Felicity set her down on the bar and shrugged her shoulders. “I hear you, but don't you think if I could help you I would? I can't even make something disappear without it registering on the Richter scale. So tell me, what went wrong?"

Lila threw herself on the bar, flinging her hand dramatically over her forehead, and shook her head. “I don't knoooow ... I mean, one minute I was up and the next I was on the ground, wings all crumpled and sucking grass clippings."

"Lost your concentration, huh? Did you take your meds before you went? You know what the doctor said. It would help your focus."

"Yes, I took my meds!” she chirped indignantly. “I didn't think I'd lost my concentration until I was flat on my ass."

Felicity wrinkled her nose. “Wanna get drunk?"

Lila sniffed. “Of course I do, silly. I want to get falling down drunk. But, I do that sober. So, what's the diff?"

"I hear someone feeling sorry for themselves,” a deep voice coated with honey said from behind them.

Lila sat up and narrowed her glazed eyes, peeking around Felicity's shoulder. “Shut up, you wannabe bloodsucker,” she said dryly. “I don't need a pep-talk from you. How's blood tolerance one-oh-one treating you? Still cry when you see garlic, you big, honkin’ girl?"

Felicity nudged Lila with her fingernail. “That's mean, Lila! Dexter did just fine with the last pint of blood he drank—he almost made it without puking. So, knock it off."

Dexter's dark eyes squinted through his thick glasses as he pushed them back up his nose and smiled sheepishly. “It's all right, F. At least I don't eat Astroturf! And I
did
pass my ‘Holy Water is
not
the New Perrier’ class. So fairies who live in glass snowglobes shouldn't throw stones!"

Lila sobbed anew, catching the tears with the edge of her drink napkin. “Ya know what the saddest part of all of this is, Dex? Blood?” Lila scoffed, snorting the word. “Nothing, not a problem, I could drink that stuff by the gallon and not even a gastrointestinal blip, but fly? Noooo ... that would be too normal, too fairy-like—too much like friggin’
Tinkerbell
! Omigod,” she yelped with realization, “I should have been a vampire. I'm a horrible mutation, DNA gone awry..."

Dexter took the stool beside Felicity and gazed solemnly at the tiny fairy he called friend. “Sorry, Lila. I know this is awful. That was mean,” he apologized. “Bartender,” he yelled, thumping his hand on the surface of the wood bar. “Bring us a round of drinks and make it quick."