Magic and Mayhem: Sh*t My Zombie Says (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Witches Gone Wild Book 4) Read online

  “You need to shut up.”

  “Everyone needs shut up or I’ll Superglue your lips shut. Get in the car,” instructed Bea. With everyone in the SUV it would be easier to translocate everyone. They’d already arranged with the guardians of Wild, Texas—where Lucas Dark lived—to visit. But they hadn’t exactly told the warlock that they were coming. Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission, right?

  It took twenty minutes to arrange Dretta, Gretta, and Tretta into the SUV. With Elspeth snuggled into her purse and Shameless on Dretta’s lap, Bea was finally able to mutter the location spell.

  They instantly appeared in the tiny downtown of Wild, Texas. Baba Yaga had filled her in about the town. The Wild community was made up of mostly witches and Shifters, along with vampires, fairies, and the occasional demon. Even so, less than a thousand people lived in the area—all protected by the Great Ash. Apparently, it used to be a tree, but the power had transferred to witch Imogene Cotton, wife of the town’s guardian, a bear Shifter named Tabor.

  Bea had never been to Wild before, but she’d lived in Assjacket for the last ten years. She was part-fairy, part-witch. Her fairy magic messed with her healer magic, thus having to seek the services of the Shifter Wanker Zelda when she’d fallen down the stupid stairs.

  Since she had no healing prowess and her fairy magic was somewhat muted, Bea supported herself by creating crochet items—hats, dolls, blankets, and so forth. Crochet was rather old-fashioned, but her godmothers had taught her the yarn arts and shown her how to weave in her fairy magic. You didn’t just get a hat—you got a hat that changed colors based on your moods. Or gloves that automatically warmed your hands when it got cold outside. Or amigurumi dolls that danced.

  Downtown wasn’t busy, probably because it was Sunday and even witches took weekends off, so her car was the only one at the four-way stop. She turned right and headed toward Wild Wood Road. According to Baba Yaga, Lucas Dark lived in an isolated cabin deep in the forest that surrounded the paranormal town.

  Bea was taking a risk by showing up at his door. However, asking the warlock for help was her last ditch effort. . If she didn’t figure out a way to rid herself of Aunt Eartha’s vicious hex, then in two weeks, Bea would be dead.

  And that would suck.

  Chapter Three

  In his small cabin tucked away in the darkest part of the Wild Woods, Lucas usually enjoyed his solace. But today? Today, he felt restless. He felt like he was waiting for something or someone. Impatience drove him to his feet, and he began pacing.

  The living room and kitchen comprised the front half of the cabin, though the place looked more like carelessly stocked library. In the back was the only bedroom and bathroom. The place was small, almost too small for his 6’6” muscled frame, but he never felt claustrophobic.

  Not until today.

  He walked to the kitchen and filled the kettle he rarely used. He put it on the stove and turned up the flame and then removed two cups from the cabinet. As he placed chamomile tea bags into the mugs, he suddenly stopped.

  What am I doing?

  He didn’t drink tea. And he didn’t expect a visit from anyone who did. He’d purchased the chamomile tea on a whim more than a week ago. Why he’d put it in his cart was still a mystery, and yet he hadn’t returned it to the grocery store shelf.

  The kettle whistled, and he poured the hot water over the tea bags.

  He couldn’t seem to stop himself for preparing for a visitor. It was strange because his gifts had never included foresight, and yet, here he was, acting as if he knew the immediate future.

  Then he heard the crunch of tires coming up his gravel drive. He left the kettle in the sink and hurried to the door. A redhead carrying a huge purse hopped out from the driver’s side of the silver SUV. The other doors opened and three elderly women emerged.

  He peered at the older ladies and realized they weren’t just old. They were dead. Wait a minute. Zombies?

  The next thing he knew a tiny black-and-white monster barreled past him and skittered across his living room, yipping joyfully. Books and papers went flying.

  The redhead hurried onto the porch and yelled, “Shameless!”

  Lucas was taken aback—first, by her accusation and second, by her countenance.

  Holy wizard balls on fire. It was her. Dream Woman.

  Shock rendered him motionless as he stared openly at her lovely heart-shaped face, her bright green eyes, and the mass of red hair pulled back into a rather ineffective ponytail. She was gorgeous. The green eyes and red hair immediately pegged her as a healer witch, but there was something different about her. He couldn’t figure out what, only that she wasn’t like any witch he’d ever met.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. Then once again she yelled, “Shameless!”

  Apparently, she was also crazy.

  “Look at that,” said one of the zombie females. She was dressed in a blue jogging suit. “He can’t talk. How can he cast spells if he’s a mute?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said a slightly taller zombie. Her jogging suit was purple. “He’s not a mute.” One slim gray finger poked him in the shoulder. “Are you?” Poke, poke, poke.

  Zombie Number Three, dressed in a pink jogging suit, slapped the other zombie’s hand away. It detached at the wrist and flew past his shoulder, landing with a sick thunk on hardwood floor of his living room.

  “Huh,” said the first zombie. “I thought Superglue was stronger than that.”

  “I told you we didn’t use enough,” groused the zombie who’d lost her hand.

  “Oh, sweet goddess.” The witch put her hand on his arm and looked up at him, her face flushed with embarrassment. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  The simple, warm touch of her fingers against his forearm shook him from his stupor. He blinked, unable to look away from Dream Woman’s face. “What the hell is going on?”

  “Both my dog and my godmother’s hand are in your living room.” She offered a weak smile, and then sternly accused, “Shameless!”

  “Why do you keep calling me that? I don’t even know you.”

  “Oh, no. No. That’s my dog’s name. You can see why.” She peered around him. “Put that down! Didn’t we just discuss not using zombie hands as chew toys?”

  “Excuse me, dear,” said Purple Jogging Suit Lady. She pushed past him, and the other two zombies followed.

  Dazed, Lucas looked down at the redhead. “Do I know you?”

  “My name is Beatrice Crawford, but everyone calls me Bea. I need your help, Mr. Dark, but I wouldn’t blame you if you turned me away.”

  “I will put a broom handle in your butt and use you to the mop the floors if you don’t let go of that hand,” the purple-jogger zombie shouted. This proclamation was followed by dog feet scurrying across the wood floor and bursts of creative cursing from the shambling geriatrics.

  “I’m scared to look,” he admitted. “Are you related to Chaos, by chance?”

  “No. At least, I don’t think so. Shit. I’ll just take my dog and my zombies and go. I really am sorry.”

  A series of high-pitched yips entered the fray. Oh, crap. The disturbance had woken up Spot and now Lucas’ familiar was in on the action.

  He turned around. Bea slid underneath his arm and stood just inside the doorway in front of him. He resisted the urge to touch her hair and settled for just smelling it instead. A honey-cinnamon scent wafted into his nostrils. Goddess above. Her scent was like that of freshly baked breakfast roll. He wanted to taste her. He’d start with those delicious lips and then he’d—whoa, boy. Sweeping the woman into his arms and kissing her senseless was not on the agenda.

  Lucas returned his attention to his familiar. Spot’s ear-splitting barks echoed through the cabin as he chased Shameless—and the zombies chased (well, if lumbering in orthopedic shoes counted) the dogs.

  “Is that a three-headed Chihuahua?” asked Bea.

  “His name is Spot.”

  Bea glanced at him, a smile curli
ng one corner of her lips. He felt his stomach pitch. Goddess, she was beautiful. “You named him Spot? He’s completely white.”

  “I was five. I thought it was a normal name a mortal would give a dog.”

  “Normal is overrated.”

  “Indeed.” He waved a hand toward the crazy dogs and zombies. They all froze. Shameless was mid-air, hand clamped in his mouth. Right on his tail was Spot, all three mouths opened in snarls. Lagging behind the dogs were the zombie godmothers, all three reaching toward Shameless.

  “Wow.” Bea’s mouth widened into a full-blown smile—and it nearly knocked him on his ass. “I wish I could do that.”

  “You’re a witch,” he said. “It’s easy enough to learn the spell.”

  “I’m half witch, half fairy, and unfortunately, my witch powers aren’t all that awesome. But if you need glitter, I’m your girl.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” He led her into the kitchen. He cleared the books off the little table and then disposed of the tea bags. He brought out the honey and a spoon. “Please sit.”

  Bea took a seat. She accepted one of the mugs and inhaled deeply. “Chamomile? That’s my favorite tea.” She took the honey and liberally poured the sweet stuff into her cup and stirred it with the spoon. She sipped the tea and sighed in contentment. “Just what I needed. Thank you.”

  Lucas felt a little unnerved. The fact he’d made the tea—her favorite, no less—before he even knew she existed was extraordinary. He pulled himself together and offered her a warm smile. “How can I help you?” he asked.

  “I heard that you specialize in curse-breaking, Mr. Dark.”

  “Call me Lucas.”

  “Lucas.”

  Her smile dazzled him once more. What would it be like to taste those pillowy lips? Just the idea of touching her made him hard. Calm down, you idiot. He drank his own tea and tried to cool off his libido.

  He noticed she was staring at him intently, and he realized he hadn’t responded to her initial comment. “Oh. Right. I have a penchant for negating bad juju. My father’s Charon—you know the ferryman of the Underworld?”

  Bea nodded.

  “My mother is a healer witch, but even so, my magic is a little darker than most, and it’s much more powerful."

  “You’re a necromancer?”

  "Sorta. I was born in the Underworld, and part of my magic derives from the dead. That freaks a lot of people out. I have broken curses and removed hexes, but it’s not an easy process. And sometimes the cost is high.”

  “Oh. How much do you charge?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “I don’t profit from offering magical help. The cost I’m referring to is the sacrificial element of the spell. The witch or warlock who needs the evil spell removal often pays a heavy price for their freedom.”

  “Like, what? A kidney? Pint of blood? Great Aunt Erma’s chocolate cake recipe?”

  “You have a Great Aunt Erma?”

  “No, I made that up. I don’t even have a chocolate cake recipe.” She sighed. “What are we really talking about here, Lucas?”

  “It depends on the power and complexity of the hex. What’s yours?”

  “Um … I’ll die by midnight on my thirtieth birthday.”

  Lucas reared back, shocked. “Someone hexed you with a death spell?”

  “My Aunt Eartha is what you would call a vengeful bitch. When I was a month old, she used dark magic to kill my parents—to kill everyone in Gallia, actually. And then she destroyed the kingdom, erasing my home from the fairy world as if it had never existed. My godmothers used the last of their magic to save me. Then they hid me here, on Earth. The thing is, they’re all just shy of a thousand years old, and were preparing for retirement. In Elysian Fields.”

  “You mean they were going to die.”

  “Yeah. But they didn’t die. We think something about Aunt Earth’s spell interfered with their magic. So, they ended up zombies—and I ended up with a very short lifespan. .”

  “Are you sure about the deadline?” Lucas flinched. “Sorry.”

  “I know what you meant. We consulted hex specialists and eventually figured out the math. In the fairy realm, I might’ve lived for 300 years. But on Earth? Only thirty.”

  “Hmm. You lived and they became the walking dead.”

  “More like the talking dead.” She took a long sip of tea. “I owe them everything. Unfortunately, their bodies are no longer holding together.” She gestured at the hand in the dog’s mouth.

  “Saving you won’t save them.”

  “Right. They’re going to die whether I do or not.”

  “Death isn’t really death. They’ll exist in the Underworld.”

  “Knowing they’re happy in the afterlife brings me some comfort, but … it’s difficult to think of my life without them in it.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Lucas.

  “Thanks.”

  “So, when’s your birthday?”

  “In two weeks.”

  “Two weeks?”

  “I know, right? I’ve tried everything,” she said. “And asked everyone I could think of for help. No witch, no fairy, no magical creature—not even the great Baba Yaga—can remove the hex.”

  “I’m your Hail Mary play.”

  She nodded, her eyes wide, her expression hopeful. “So what about it, Lucas? Can you save me?”

  Chapter Four

  Bea stared at Lucas, nerves plucking her stomach, as she waited for his answer. Finally, he nodded. Relief flowed through her, untensing her muscles. Hope, at last. She took a steadying breath and smiled.

  “Let’s go to my workshop,” he said. “Death hexes are complex. We need to find out how bad yours is, and then we’ll craft the solution for getting rid of it.”

  He rose to his feet. And Bea followed. They both stopped and stared at the motionless figures in the living room.

  “I suppose we can’t leave them like that,” she said, half-serious. The peace and quiet had soothed her. She couldn’t remember a time where her godmothers weren’t arguing, the dog wasn’t acting crazy, and she wasn’t chasing or chastising zombie and animal.

  It was nice.

  “I could leave them like that for the rest of the day,” said Lucas. “But I need Spot for the spell-work, and I imagine you’ll want Shameless, too.”

  “Goddess, no. I love the ragamuffin, but he’ll upend your workshop in five seconds flat.”

  Lucas frowned. “Are you sure you don’t want your familiar?”

  “Shameless?” Bea laughed. “No, he’s an actual dog—my pet dog.”

  “That shaggy bag of bonesss wouldn’t know a ssspell if it bit him on the asss,” said Elspeth as she poked her head out of Bea’s purse. The snake’s red-black-white band gleamed as she moved further out of the bag. Bea stroked her familiar’s head. “This is Elspeth. My familiar.”

  Lucas took a wary step back.

  Elspeth bobbed her head as she assessed him. “Ssso you’re the one who will sssave my witch.”

  “I’ll try,” said Lucas.

  Elspeth stared at the warlock. “You will try? That’sss not good enough.”

  “Whoa, girl,” said Bea. “Let’s give Lucas a chance.”

  Elspeth’s forked tongue flickered out, an obvious warning. “If you do not produccce resssults, I will bite you.” With that proclamation, Elspeth returned to the purse.

  “She’s not poisonous,” Bea told Lucas. “But her bite has magic, and depending on her mood, she’ll either make you run into walls or slap yourself silly. One time, she made an ex-boyfriend literally walk himself off a short pier.”

  “Don’t piss off Elspeth,” said Lucas. “Got it.” He waved his hand toward the frozen chaos. Zombies and dogs awoke instantly, and all were momentarily stunned. Her godmothers turned toward Bea and Lucas. Shameless dropped the wizened hand and sat down, tongue lolling out. Her Shih Tzu was a bundle of happiness. Nothing ever got to him. Spot swung his three heads to look at Lucas and gave the warlock three heated stare
s.

  “What happened?” demanded Dretta.

  “I have a metallic taste in my mouth,” grumped Tretta. She narrowed her one good eye and aimed her ire at Lucas. “You cast a spell on us!”

  Gretta scooped up her hand. “Hah! Victory is mine!”

  “Maybe I should get zombie-flavored chewies for Shameless,” teased Bea. “Y’all must taste good.”

  “There will be no more eating of body parts,” said Tretta. “We all agreed.”

  “We agreed we wouldn’t chow down on the juicy limbs of people. Shameless made no such pact about snacking on us,” pointed out Gretta.

  “What the hell is going on?’ boomed a deep male voice. It issued from the tiny three-headed Chihuahua. “What have you gotten yourself into now, Lucas?”

  The dog couldn’t be more than ten pounds—and most of that weight was probably the heads. The familiar’s small body didn’t look like it should be able to support the amount of skulls protruding from its neck.

  “Well?” demanded Spot.

  “Nothing I can’t handle,” reassured Lucas.

  “Humph!” The Chihuahua lay down in a Sphinx pose. The middle head began licking its front paws.

  “Lucas, do you have any Superglue?” asked Gretta.

  “Of sorts.” He crossed the room and took the detached hand. He placed it on Gretta’s wrist and wiggled his fingers over the gap. Tiny black tendrils appeared and stitched the hand onto the wrist.

  Gretta looked down, obviously amazed. “Magic doesn’t exactly work well on the dead.”

  “Unless you’re a warlock that draws on the power of the Underworld.” He patted Gretta’s good-as-somewhat-new hand.

  “I’ve got some toes that need fixing,” said Tretta.

  “She messed up the order when she was gluing them back on earlier,” explained Gretta. “Her big toe isn’t where it should be.”

  “I’m sure Lucas would like nothing better to spend the afternoon putting zombie puzzles back together, but he’s going to work on getting me unhexed instead.”

  “You can help her?” asked Dretta, her voice trembling. If the walking dead could cry Bea felt like D-Mom would be doing so now. Her heart clenched. She crossed the room and placed her arm around Dretta’s thin shoulders. Her other two godmothers crowded in close, too.