Wicked by Any Other Name (7 page)

“It wasn't a stunt, Agnes,” Stasi corrected her. “Just a shift in energy. It can happen this time of year.”

Agnes's narrow features grew even more pinched. “We have honored your wishes by not advertising that witches live here, which could greatly build up our tourism. But it could do even more good at this time of year.”

“We have plenty of tourists that stop here without resorting to gimmicks,” Stasi reminded her, leaning back against a small table displaying white and pastel cotton bikini pants and bras along with Vicki Lewis Thompson Nerd romance novels. “Moonstone Lake has the look of a haunted mining town during the month of October only. We're not Salem Village, Agnes.” A sick feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as she spoke of the famous New England village best known for its witch trials in 1692. Not one victim executed during that time was a witch, and Stasi had lived in abject fear that she would be discovered while she lived there. Afterwards, she fostered guilt that she had survived when those who had not one speck of magick in their blood didn't.

Agnes sniffed loudly and stood up. “True, we aren't, and at least we have a rich history from the Gold Rush.” She dropped her handkerchief inside her handbag and snapped it shut. “You and your friend may make light of what Floyd and I do, but we take our duties seriously and this time of year does bring in more tourists than even the summer season. Reed and Poppy may be new to the community, but they are more than doing their part. I hope you and Blair will keep that in mind.”

For a second, Stasi seriously thought about darkening the moustache above Agnes's upper lip.

“I plan to start decorating the front windows this week for the month-long event,” she replied, following the woman to the door. “Blair and I've always done our part.”

Agnes stopped just short of the door. She looked around as if she feared the shop was filled with eavesdroppers. Stasi had to lean over to catch her words.

“I know my niece comes in here a lot,” she murmured. “Missy is very fragile, and I would like to ask you not to do anything odd for her.”

Stasi swallowed her cough of astonishment. “Odd? What kind of
odd
things are you talking about, Agnes?”

The older woman refused to look at her. “You know very well what I'm speaking of. As I said, Missy is fragile. I don't like her coming in here thinking her world will be all the better because you offer it.”

Stasi could feel her blood start to boil. “Missy is a very sweet seventeen-year-old girl who comes in here to buy sport bras because I carry some with lace. She doesn't need anything
odd
and I don't offer anything
odd.
” She bit off each word. “If I did it would be nothing more than self-confidence, a sense of sensuality within a woman. It's a state of mind, Agnes, not of the body. Perhaps you should try it sometime.”

The older woman straightened up. “After what Carrie has said, people are wondering just what you
do
give your customers. I'm sure you know that if you do something that isn't proper, we have the right to shut down your business.”

“Do not threaten me, Agnes.” Stasi was steaming mad. “Trust me, you won't win.” Agnes backed up a few steps and hurried out of the store before Stasi could say anything more.

“Amazing, little Stasi has balls. I'm proud of you, kid,” Horace spoke up from his perch on the counter by the register.

“The old biddy,” Stasi muttered, watching Bogie appear in his bed just behind the counter. She placed a Snausage in reach. “Maybe if she'd buy some decent lingerie she'd develop a personality that was actually likable.”

“You're better off to be mad at her than consider her coming in as a customer. The idea of His and Her Honor doing the horizontal tango is downright scary,” Horace said.

“That's nothing I'd like to think about either. But her daring to threaten me was beyond the pale. I should at least have ruined her manicure.”

“Ooh, tough talk from scary witch,” the gargoyle taunted. “You lost your balls, Stasi. You need to stand up to that old harridan more. You did pretty good this time, but you could do better.”

“I'm not Jazz who can throw a fireball with more accuracy than a Major League pitcher. And I'm not Blair who can come up with the nastiest, grossest revenge spell. I don't
like
being angry and fighting with people. I just want to make people feel better about themselves, their sexuality.”

“Yeah, but you took a stand against Carrie and that was a great first step.”

“Oh sure, and it got me sued.” Stasi went into her office and pulled a small moneybag out of the safe she kept there. She had no need to worry about thieves. Anyone stupid enough to break into the safe would think a diamondback rattlesnake guarded her money. And while the bite would feel very real and the sense of venom racing through their bloodstream equally valid, they'd merely have the scare of their lives. To date, she and Blair hadn't had one break-in. Plus, she knew Horace could emit a scream that would shred eardrums. He hated anyone interrupting his fourteen-hour sleep cycle.

No one needed a security system if they had the right magick on their side.

“You forgot to set up the coffee maker,” Horace grumbled, making his way to the end of the counter.

“Having a distorted gargoyle is bad enough, but one with a caffeine addiction is too much.” Stasi had the coffee dripping into the pot in no time.

“No thanks to this curse, I have few pleasures in this world. After seeing old Agnes, who I'm positive wears old lady panties and one of those girdles made back in the 1950s, no way I want to look up her dress.” He covered his eyes with his paws while his horns seemed to swivel in opposite directions.

Stasi poured coffee into a small cup and inserted a straw. She carried it back to the counter and set it in front of the gargoyle, who uttered sounds of joy before latching onto the straw.

“You know that wizard will be back,” he said once he'd had enough caffeine to be a bit more personable.

Stasi closed her eyes against the vision of dancing red hearts over her head that she could see in the floor-length mirror near the counter.

“There's no reason for him to come back unless he's here to see Carrie. Maybe someone needs to dump red paint on her head,” she muttered, restocking scented sachets that resembled silk or velvet bustiers, wedding gowns, or evening gowns. These she didn't imbue with any form of magick and allowed the scents of vanilla and lavender to do their work instead. The sachets she tucked into each package looked like silken pink or coral roses and gave the buyer a sense of well-being and heightened sensuality. Nothing made her happier than seeing smiles on her customers' faces. A smile that was now on her face as she thought of tourists who would stop by to find lingerie to perk up their day. A smile that disappeared the minute she walked back to the counter and found a sheet of papyrus lying near the register.

“
No!
” She slapped the counter near the papyrus, but didn't touch it.

Unfortunately, her presence was enough to trigger it. The document rolled upward and actually bowed to her.

“Greetings, Witch Romanov, ye have been served with additional papers regarding the case
Anderson vs. Romanov
. Please read and respond immediately.” The papyrus returned to its resting place.

Stasi's snarl was worthy of a pissed off Were as she read the words detailed in elegant calligraphy.

Her fingers flexed, sparks flying around her as she paced the shop.

Horace made his way over to the document and leaned over it. “Wow, she's really mad at you. She wants your powers stripped from you, monetary damages, and even your property. I can't believe the wizard would allow this.”

“Well, he would,” she said grimly, picking up the box of bustier sachets she had left near the display and shoving them under the counter where they'd be handy when she needed to restock. “He's a lawyer and a wizard. Both are nasty.”

“I don't know. Your Eurydice is about as scary as they come.”

Stasi's heart skipped a few beats at the name of the head of the Witches' Council and headmistress of the Witches' Academy. The witch was formidable, and not one witchling attending the academy dared go against her. Not until one of Stasi's class cast that illegal spell.

Stasi never admitted it to anyone, but she had been scared witless when she stood with her fellow witchlings and was banished to the outside world. She was grateful she didn't know who'd cast the spell. And she knew she wouldn't have survived long if she hadn't been with Blair, who'd been her best friend all through the academy.

Through the centuries, she'd had adventures she couldn't have dreamed of, kept her heart whole—since she knew she would outlive any man she met—and discovered that she enjoyed making women feel good about themselves.

And now she felt as if her life was falling down around her. She bit her lower lip to keep the tears from falling.

“Hey.” Horace waddled over to her and hesitantly patted her arm. His leathery wings shifted back and forth sending a faint breeze into the air. Concern wasn't something the gargoyle did well, but he was trying. “It's okay, Stasi. You're going to win. You'll see. That skank is trying to make you miserable and you can't let her know she's upset you. Hell, if you want, set me outside her house some night and I'll give her the most miserable night of her life.”

Stasi looked down at the stone creature. “Stop looking at my breasts!”

He shrugged. “A goyle's got to do what he can.”

She uttered an incomprehensible word, stalked out of the shop, and headed next door. Blair was dancing to the sounds of Bill Haley and the Comets' classic hit “Rock Around the Clock”
as she arranged a selection of Madame Alexander Wendy and Ginny dolls from the 1950s.

Blair spun around and caught sight of Stasi's expression.

“What happened?”

“Horace was comforting me.”

She froze. “Excuse me?”

Stasi nodded. “He was patting my arm and saying nice things. Well, except for calling Carrie a skank.”

“Horace is never nice. He's a Peeping Tom and a pervert. He's happiest when he gets a flash of breast or thigh.”

“He did stare at my breasts for a second, but I think he
was
trying to make me feel better. I received another papyrus from the Wizards' Court.” Stasi ran her fingertips over the edge of a Red Flyer wagon that sported a hefty price tag.

Blair's crinoline petticoats made a dry rustling sound as she crossed the shop and hugged her friend.

“She wants me stripped of my powers.” Stasi's words stuttered around the lump in her throat. “She wants what makes me
me
gone.”

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 assisted 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 breasts 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-bumped 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 ass 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 bitch?” 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 damned 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 assistant, 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.” Pronouncement 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 Ardglass, 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 class 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 assistant 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 class 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 pricked. “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 shiny red dancing hearts at the top of the paper.

“Oh hell.”

***

“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 passed so quickly. “Definitely. One of their mesquite tri-tip and a Diet Coke.”

“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 $1,000 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 ass—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.