Magic and Mayhem: Sh*t My Vampire Says (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Witches Gone Wild Book 3) Page 2

  “I get it. I’m married to a Shifter,” she said. “Do you need anything to drink? Are you hungry?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “I can whip up anything you’d like,” she said. “I’m a witch and therefore, much better than a microwave.”

  “I can attest to that,” said the man sidling behind Immie and kissing her cheek. He looked at Caulder, his gaze warm and welcoming. “Hi there. I’m Tabor.” Tabor Cotton was a big man—tall, broad-shouldered, and about the size of well, a bear. He wore jeans, a pearl-button snap shirt and black cowboy boots. Tabor held out a hand and gave Caulder’s a firm shake. “So, you’re here to find a vampire? We don’t get many of those.”

  “Any, actually,” said Immie.

  “Jessica said you had a tracker,” said Tabor. “So you know where he is?”

  “I do.” Caulder easily recalled the image of the map and told Tabor how to get to the location.

  “Are you sure?” asked Tabor in a shaking voice. The change in his demeanor obviously alarmed his wife.

  “What is it?” she asked, turning around and cupping his cheek. Worry marred her brow. “What’s wrong?”

  “Everything,” said Tabor. “I need a drink.”

  Chapter Three

  Tabor was the size of an oak tree, solid and strong, and Caulder figured that made the bear Shifter an intimidating fellow. At least he would’ve been if his face hadn’t been as white as a pail of milk. He sat down heavily on a stool parked by the kitchen island, his third shot of whiskey forgotten.

  “Are you sure this vampire of yours, Raymond Cobbler, is there?” Tabor asked for the third time.

  “Jessica said so,” said Caulder. That damned itch had gone from his neck to both shoulders. He rolled them trying to shake off the feeling, rather than give in to the need to scrub his back against a rough-barked tree. Caulder looked at the bear Shifter. “Do you want to call her again to make sure?”

  “I think two panicked phone calls were plenty,” said Immie. She put her hand on her husband’s shoulder. “Where is he, honey?”

  “If that tracker is right, he’s smack dab in the middle of Lavender Greengrass’s property.” He rubbed a shaking hand over his face. “Are you sure you have to get this vampire? Because nobody would fault you for leaving him there and going home.”

  What the hell had ol’ Ray gotten himself into? If this Greengrass lady could freak out a bear Shifter, she had to be something to behold. Caulder felt a zip of excitement. He liked different and challenging. Especially in a woman. “My sister would kill me if I lost this particular vampire.”

  “Better her than Lavender.”

  Immie frowned. “Tabor, who is she?”

  “She’s fae-ish. She lives on about five acres on the outskirts of town. She’s still in the Great Ash’s protection zone, but she generally keeps to herself. The last time she came to town—couple years ago, I think—she turned loose a plague of black beetles that damned near buried every building. We had huge drifts of these critters. It was like snow, but uglier—and crunchier.”

  “If she’s that malicious, why is she allowed to be in Wild?” asked Immie.

  “That’s just it. She doesn’t do it on purpose. I don’t think she has a mean bone in her body, but death and destruction follow her around. If you get within three feet of her, you’re in danger. She gave me small pox once.” He turned his panicked gaze on his wife. “Small pox! Shifters aren’t supposed to get human diseases. Especially not ones that have been eradicated.”

  Immie patted Tabor’s shoulder as she met Caulder’s gaze. “Are you sure you want to risk black beetle storms and small pox?”

  “Well, why don’t we call her and ask her to send Ray to town? I can pick him up there.”

  “She doesn’t have a phone,” said Tabor.

  Hmm. She sounded like his kind of girl. Whatever her proclivities, she liked solitude, and Caulder could appreciate that.

  “Even if she did, I wouldn’t risk going deaf or getting an ear infection from the sound of her voice. If you really want to get Mr. Cobbler, you’ll have to get him in person. Don’t do it now. Night is like … like charging her power with lightning. Get some rest and go in the morning.”

  “Tomorrow, I can wrap you in a protection spell,” said Immie. “As the Great Ash, I have a lot of juju. And I’ll give you an amulet for Ray, so he won’t explode from the sunlight.”

  “Thanks,” said Caulder. “I appreciate it.” He looked at Immie. “You got anything for mosquito bites? I’m itching like crazy.”

  Immie smiled. Then she pointed at Caulder. Green magic whirled from the tip of her forefinger and wrapped around him. “Listen now to what I say—itch, itch go away!”

  * * *

  In his werecougar form, Caulder already felt a sense of peace. While Immie’s magic cure seemed to work earlier, the damned itch had relocated to his back, and he used the nearest tree as a scratching post until the irritation lessened.

  Soon, he found the perfect tree to nap in, easily leaping from thick branch to thick branch until he was high enough off the ground to feel safe. The smells of the fragrant earth and the sharp sting of pine helped set his body at ease. A light wind rasped against the leaves, and brought with it the redolence of honeysuckle flowers and…what was that? He lifted his head so his snout could better capture the elusive scent. It was rich and spicy, and somehow a hint of sweet. Like hot chocolate spiced with chili flakes. He’d never smelled anything like it before. It moved through him, a feeling that was both foreign and familiar. Such a chaotic mix. And yet, exciting, too.

  Eventually, the wonderful scent faded, and Caulder had nothing left to do but try to rest.

  Sleep asked a price every night. He didn’t know why the memory had to be taken out and looked at, relived. He hadn’t gleaned any new knowledge from it, no a-ha experiences, and not a single inspirational reason for what happened. Worst of all, he couldn’t change any aspect of it. That was the bitch of eidetic memory. Perfect clarity. Detailed recall. No fuzzy parts at all, nothing he could re-imagine to make it all hurt less.

  So, he prepared himself for reliving a memory he wished like hell he could forget.

  * * *

  Caulder was eight-years-old and his sister, Lissa, was barely four. She didn’t understand why they had to hide in the secret room under the kitchen floor. Above them, boots stomped across the wooden slats, causing dust and dirt to swirl down. Caulder clutched the tiny flashlight, unable to extinguish the small white beam. Lissa hated the dark. And maybe he didn’t like it much, either.

  But he was brave.

  Mama said he was brave.

  They heard the deep voices of men arguing.

  “Where’s Mommy?” asked Lissa.

  “Shhh,” admonished Caulder. He whispered, “We have to be real quiet until the bad men leave.”

  Lissa nodded, tears coasting down her chubby cheeks. She wasn’t too good at Shifting yet, so they had to stay in their human forms. He was supposed to protect his baby sister no matter what.

  He’d promised.

  Caulder didn’t know how long they sat on the concrete floor, squished between shelves of canned vegetables and gallons of water. At some point, Lissa’s grief exhausted her and she fell asleep against his shoulder. He kept vigil, his worry for Mama a weight on his chest.

  Finally, everything went silent. He waited a while longer, though, just to make sure the bad men had gone away.

  “Lissa.” He shook his sister awake. “C’mon.”

  He stood up and pulled Lissa to her feet. He led her through the small room to the wood ladder that led up to the trapdoor.

  “Follow me,” he said in a low voice. “And be really, really quiet, okay?”

  Lissa nodded.

  Caulder climbed up the ladder, pausing at the top to listen. Nothing and no one stirred—at least not in the kitchen. Heart hammering in his chest, he lifted the trapdoor up and peeked out.

  The kitchen was dark. He shone the flashl
ight’s tiny beam around the area. Empty.

  He pushed the trapdoor all the way open and heaved himself onto the floor. He stood up and held out his hand to Lissa. She grabbed onto him and crawled out. Caulder put his finger to his lips. Lissa nodded, but she looked like she wanted to cry. He had to get them to the safe house. That’s where Mama would be waiting.

  At least, he hoped so.

  They crept across the kitchen to the back door. He opened it and led his sister onto the small porch. “You wanna race?” he asked. “Whoever makes it across the backyard first gets a bag of Skittles.”

  His sister loved Skittles. Her expression brightened.

  “Okay. Go!”

  She took off, her bare feet whispering through the dewy grass. Caulder jumped off the porch, but then he felt a large, meaty hand clasp his arm.

  “Well, well, well,” said a rasping male voice. “Looks like I found a kitty.”

  Caulder bit the man’s forearm, sinking his cougar fangs deep. The man hollered and let him go. He jerked his mouth away from the man’s damaged flesh, the rusty taste of blood coating his tongue.

  He immediately started to shift, going down on all fours as the strength of his cougar filled him with courage. He loped across the backyard and into the tree line where Lissa waited. She grabbed the scruff of his neck and swung her leg over his back. Within seconds, she clung to him, her tears soaking his fur.

  Caulder went deeper into the forest, away from the men who were crashing into the woods. He knew the area well and soon had outpaced those who searched for him and his family.

  He had to get to the safe house.

  Mama would be there.

  Wouldn’t she?

  He loped around a tree and Lissa slid off, huddling at the base of the large oak. Caulder shifted into his human form and crouched at her side, stroking her hair. “It’ll be okay, Lissa,” he said.

  “Oh, my darlin’ boy.”

  Caulder looked up and saw a woman floating above him. The scent of spiced hot chocolate infiltrated his senses and he breathed deeply. She was beautiful, ethereal. Her heart-shaped face held such concern for him. She reached down and cupped his face. “You’ve suffered enough, love,” she said in a beautiful Irish voice. “Be free of this pain.”

  Caulder jolted, his eyes flying open. He damned near fell off the tree. Who the fuck was that? She shouldn’t have been there. Not in his memory. Heart pounding, he tried to recall that terrible night again. Tried to see her again.

  He got a vague recollection of running in the forest with his sister, then someone else … someone who smelled like dark chocolate and felt like peace … and then even that feeling and knowledge faded. He only remembered that he’d had a memory.

  And now, it was gone.

  Chapter Four

  That werecougar was fi-ine. Dorcas flitted around the garden in a tight black mini-skirt, tank top, and red stiletto heels. Her gray hair was done up in a beehive, and she’d taken cat-eye liner to the extreme. Too bad he’s gonna die a horrible death.

  “Is there a different kind?” asked Immie. “Death is kinda horrible already.” She stroked the small white petals of her feverfew flowers. Their deep yellow centers were a striking contrast. Feverfew was quite pretty, but its leaves were the real treasure. Chewing on them could relieve headaches. She often used feverfew to create poultices and teas for those who suffered migraines and arthritis. “Liz,” she admonished as her frill-necked lizard familiar opened her mouth to take a bite, “you know you can’t eat that.”

  “I can, too,” she said, her Australian accent heavy with petulance. “Even if it makes me chunder.”

  Why can’t you just say vomit? asked Dorcas, irritated. Liz eating something she shouldn’t. Like she does every freaking day. The ghost floated over the feverfew plants and rolled onto her stomach. Back to me, okay? So … there’s horrible and then there’s—Dorcas grabbed her throat and made choking-hissing noises as she tumbled around in the air—catastrophic horrible.

  Immie put down her clippers and stared up at the Puritan ghost. “Why would you say that? Even you’re not that mean.”

  Oh, sure I am. But in this case, I’m saying it because of the demon.

  “Demon?”

  The one attached to Mr. Sexy’s back like a clingy ex-girlfriend. I bet cougar-man was itchy as hell. It’s the scales—even invisible they irritate the skin. Anyway. Said his name was Ferth, and man, what a dick. Dorcas changed her voice to whine. I’m gonna destroy him and blast her, blah, blah, blah. She rolled her eyes. See? A real dick.

  “Wait. You’re saying that a murderous demon followed Caulder to Lavender Greengrass’s house?”

  Dorcas sank to the earth and peered at Immie. You’re not usually this slow. Did you need me to repeat it using smaller words?

  Immie flicked green magic at Dorcas. It zapped her on the ass.

  Hey, protested the ghost.

  “Liz, did you see a demon?” she asked.

  The lizard snapped her mouth closed and moved guiltily away from the white petals. “Not much for seeing the minions of Hell,” said Liz. Her little tongue flicked out. “But I’m not surprised Dorcas the Dead can see ‘em. She’s one step away from becoming one.”

  Ha, ha. That’s not how it works, you alligator bait. I’m a ghost. I can’t become demon.

  “That’s enough, you two.” Immie narrowed her gaze at Dorcas. “Do you think telling me earlier, say when Caulder was actually here, would’ve been a better idea?”

  Well, you and Tabor getting it on—fordamnedever—prevented me from telling you last night. And this morning, I went to school with the girls.

  “I told you to stop doing that. You distract them too much. And the last time, you freaked out Mrs. Wisen so badly, she took a leave of absence.”

  Dorcas shrugged. Who knew she was allergic to apples?

  “Everybody’s allergic to poisoned apples.”

  It was only enough to turn her green. Dorcas crossed her arms and sniffed. Maybe next time she won’t say something snotty about the Hoars when teaching Puritan witch history.

  “I’m with Dorky Butt,” said Liz. “Mrs. Wisen doesn’t know diddly-squat about frill-necked lizards or our contributions to familiar kind, either.”

  Immie turned her glare onto her familiar. “Don’t tell me you were in on that.”

  Liz sniffed. “Okay. I won’t.”

  “You are both grounded. Now, I have to go warn Caulder. You two stay here.” Immie rose to her feet and stripped off her gardening gloves.

  What about Tabor?

  “He had to go to Dallas for some guardian shindig. He won’t be home until tomorrow.”

  Your honey bear is going to go berserk if he finds out you went anywhere near Typhoid Mary.

  “She’s right, mate,” said Liz. “Tabor won’t like it all.”

  “Then I guess we better keep it to ourselves.”

  You should at least let me come along. I want to see what a para-natural disaster looks like up close. Besides, you may need someone to relay the details of your sudden demise.

  “Like they’d believe you. Besides, I won’t die. Great Ash, remember?” Immie shook her finger at Dorcas and then at Liz. “I mean it. Stay here.”

  Fine. No problem. I didn’t want to go anyway.

  “Me, either,” said Liz. “So there.”

  * * *

  Caulder pulled up to the quaint cottage. The Craftsman-style home, with its brown rock walls and neatly painted trim, was surrounded by the proverbial white picket fence. The lush, well-tended front yard would make Martha Stewart jealous. Strangely, the light around the house was different than that outside of its perimeter. It was about an hour before noon, the sun high in the sky and already starting a heat beat-down, but there—over Miss Greengrass’s home, the light appeared to be the yellows and pinks of breaking dawn.

  Weird.

  Caulder got out of the truck, opened the gate, and walked up the stone pathway to the front porch. Two rocking chairs
flanked a blue table, which held a potted plant. He peered at it. He’d never seen fauna like that before. The tall green stalks looked like spoons at the top, and were outlined in a red fringe.

  Caulder rang the doorbell and heard the tinkling sounds of bells—if the bells were being rung at a funeral. He hadn’t even seen Lavender Greengrass, but he already knew she was someone he wanted to meet.

  A woman dressed in a black lace wrap opened the door. Caulder was thunderstruck. Pink wings fluttered from her back. The color of her wings was the same as her hair, cut in a short messy bob, which complimented her heart-shaped face and eyes that were purple with irises rimmed in pink. Why did she seem familiar? He’d never met her. He’d remember—and that would be a memory he’d happily take out and re-examine.

  The chili-chocolate fragrance overwhelmed him, sinking into his pores, embedding into his bones. He knew that scent—he’d absorbed it last night. He hadn’t understood its pull then, but he did now.

  Mate.

  The woman staring at him with narrowed eyes and a scowling expression was his mate.

  Holy shit. He’d never thought in a million years he’d ever experience instant attraction, much less the certain and inevitable knowledge that he’d found his forever love.

  He felt sucker punched. And while he stood there, trying to get breath back into his lungs, she looked at him and said, “You’re not welcome here. Go away.”

  Bam! Sucker punch number two. He hadn’t expected her to reject him before he’d even said hello. He tried not to stagger back because it sure as hell felt like she’d kneed him in the balls.

  “Hi,” he managed to squeak out. “Ms. Greengrass, maybe we could talk before you throw me out on my ass.”

  Her gaze flicked to him, and she offered a warm smile. Wow. She was so beautiful. That smile was something he could—no, would—worship every day. And he would give her reasons, lots and lots of reasons, to smile.

  “Call me Lavender, please.”

  “I’m Caulder.”

  “Caulder, I’m so sorry,” she said graciously in that wonderful Irish lilt. “I was talking to him, not you.” She flicked her fingers, and Caulder felt something heavy hanging on his backside—for all of one second. The purply-pink magic issuing from the fae’s fingers whirled over him, and he heard, “Aaaaaaah! Fuck!”