Southern Fried Witchmas

  Amy Boyles

  Contents

  Untitled

  Foreword

  A Christmas Past

  Reid Wants Magic

  Nan Gets a Story

  Roman Has Feelings for Dylan

  A Moment in Roman’s Past

  Grandma Spins a Tale

  Sera in Monkey Town

  Halloween with the Apels

  Dylan and Roman’s First Christmas

  1. Thanks Y’all!

  Also by Amy Boyles

  About the Author

  SOUTHERN FRIED WITCHMAS

  * * *

  a collection of short vignettes set in the

  Bless Your Witch World

  * * *

  by

  * * *

  Amy Boyles

  Foreword

  I want to thank you for purchasing this collection of Bless Your Witch shorts, or vignettes, as I sometimes refer to them. I wrote these between 2016 and 2017. Except for the last short in this collection, every vignette was previously sent to my newsletter subscribers over the course of the past year and half.

  I’ve received several requests for past short stories, so I figured the best way to allow everyone access was to publish them all together.

  I’m releasing this in time for the holiday season. Mind you, not every story is holiday related—the first short and the last, Dylan and Roman’s First Christmas, are the only two that share that theme. The other stories are told from the point of view of secondary characters. I hope you enjoy this glimpse into the minds of characters I don’t get to explore in the Bless world.

  Have a wonderful holiday season!

  * * *

  Best witches,

  * * *

  Amy

  A Christmas Past

  Milly Jones wasn’t what anyone would call nice. She wasn’t particularly mean, either. But if one suggested the word surly to describe her, they would win a gold medal for most pointed description.

  Milly had few friends and probably more enemies than regular folks, though those enemies were most likely afraid she’d turn them into a horny toad if they ever made a malicious move on her. So Milly stayed safe and sound in her hometown of Silver Springs, Alabama.

  For many people, the holidays are a time when they smile a little more, put a bit of a spring in their step and even bake something in the oven that requires cinnamon or nutmeg just for the sake of being able to say they did it.

  Milly Jones, however, never decorated, never baked, nor did she play music featuring the musical stylings of Bing Crosby. It’s not that she hated the holidays, it simply that they didn’t appeal to her.

  What did appeal to her was living a quiet life and not being bothered. She wanted to read her romance novels in peace. Not that anyone knew she loved romance. Of course, not many people bothered to get to know the grumpy old woman in the old Victorian house.

  Fine by her.

  This was how Milly Jones found her situation on a cold December night. Christmas was only a few days away and Milly had a hot cup of tea, a good book and warm fire burning in the living room hearth. She had just secured a fuzzy blanket over her legs when the doorbell rang.

  “Somebody better be delivering a box full of money,” she complained. Milly caned her way over to the door and opened it.

  It wasn’t UPS with a package. Instead, it was a gang of people holding candles.

  “What do you want?” Milly said.

  A jolly man wearing a green sweater, a red cap and black scarf spoke. “Would you like us to sing a Christmas carol?”

  “Why would I want that?”

  He blinked as if trying to come up with an answer. “Um. Because you might want some cheer?”

  “I’ve got all the cheer I can handle,” Milly said. “No thanks. Go pester someone else.”

  “Come on,” jolly man said. “How about one song?”

  “Mister, you try singing me one song and I’ll tell you where to shove your Christmas spirit.”

  His mouth opened and closed like fish. “Okay, I guess we’ll be going then.” He ushered the carolers off her porch.

  “Good riddance,” Milly said. She caned back inside and was almost in her chair when a quiet knock came once again from the door. “What in the blazes?”

  Though Milly had not worked herself into anything near a tizzy, her blood pressure was up and warm sweat spread across her back.

  She sighed and opened the door.

  “What?” she said, expecting to see that oafish jolly man.

  But he wasn’t there. Milly looked from side to side. Then she looked down.

  There stood a little girl. She had dark chocolate hair pulled into two low pigtails. A wool cap sat down to her ears and her wide coffee colored eyes stared at Milly with a world of innocence.

  “Well?” Milly said.

  The girl’s chewed on her fingers for a second. Then she stopped and pushed her hand down to her side. She thrust something at Milly.

  “What’s that?” Milly said.

  “A rose,” the girl said.

  “I can see that. What are you doing with it?”

  “I’m giving it to you.”

  “Why?”

  The girl pressed her lips into a thin line and said, “I brought it with me to give to someone.”

  She kept her hand extended until Milly took the flower.

  “Merry Christmas.” The girl turned and started down the stairs.

  “Wait,” Milly said.

  The girl stopped. “I need to get back to the group.”

  “What’s your name?” Milly said.

  “Dylan.”

  Milly’s heart jerked and sputtered as the girl traipsed to catch up with the other carolers. Milly brought the rose to her heart and before she slipped back inside to snuggle under her blanket and read her book, she whispered, “Merry Christmas, granddaughter.”

  Reid Wants Magic

  I know one day I’ll get my powers. I just know it. I try not to say it out loud too much because my family makes fun of me. My one hope in life and I get made fun of for it.

  They’re mean, right?

  “Reid, are you reading a book on magic?”

  My older sister Dylan stared down her nose at me. Sure, I was sitting on the floor, but that was no reason for her to be tapping her foot and glaring at me like that.

  I toed off my Converse sneakers. “No.”

  “Let me see the cover.”

  I hugged the book to my chest.

  “Why?”

  Dylan raised a suspicious brow. “Because I don’t think reading a book on magic is going to help you get your powers.” She opened her palm. “Let me see it.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “It’s definitely something.”

  I raised my chin and said, “You can’t see it.”

  She squinted at me long and hard. I didn’t care. I wasn’t giving in and handing over the book. She glanced over her shoulder and said, “Grandma, Dylan’s reading a book on magic.”

  I scooted back into the corner of the living room. “Am not.”

  “Are too.”

  Grandma rushed in. A tiara gleamed on her crown and a sheer white scarf floated along behind her. Don’t ask me where she gets her fashion sense. I’m convinced it’s some sort of old person thing—pairing normal clothes with crazy accessories like crowns. Weird and weirder.

  Grandma marched over to me. She leaned in, trying to sneak a peek at my book. I wasn’t budging, though. It was locked tight in my arms.

  “It smells old,” she said. “Could be a book of magic. Reid, let me see it.”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’ll laugh at me,” I huffed.

  Grandma adjusted her scarf. “No one is going to laugh at you, dear.”

  “I might,” Dylan said.

  I pointed at my oldest sister. “See? Dylan said she was going to laugh.”

  Grandma stared at Dylan. “She’s not going to laugh at you.”

  I jutted out my chin. “Dyl, are you going to laugh?”

  She shrugged. “Not if everyone’s going to be all sensitive about it.”

  “What’d I tell you?” Grandma said. “Now. Let me see that book.”

  I prepared myself for whatever negative reaction they were going to give. I heaved the weighty book in my arms and flipped the cover out so they could read the gold lettering.

  Grandma bent over. “The Witch’s Guide to Witchery. Hmm. Haven’t heard of that one. May I see it?”

  I plopped it in her arms. Grandma peeled back the cover. Dylan, of course, stared over her shoulder. She was probably just waiting for her chance to make fun of me.

  “Oh, this looks like a good recipe,” she said.

  “What?” I asked, confused. I was only like three pages into the book. I hadn’t gotten far at all.

  Grandma’s tiara slipped. She tucked it back into place with one hand. “It’s for witch shaped sugar cookies topped with sprinkles.”

  “What are you talking about?” I said.

  Dylan cackled. “This one looks even better. It’s for chocolate toads.”

  I pushed off the floor. “What are you saying?” I said.

  “Weren’t you reading this cook book?” Grandma said.

  “It’s not a cookbook.” I peeked over Grandma’s arm and flipped through the pages. There were recipes for meringue wizards, gnome donuts, witch’s hat punch. What? I swear it hadn’t looked li
ke a cookbook when I picked it up at the library.

  Grandma snapped the book shut and handed it back to me. “I don’t know why the two of you are so worked up about a cookbook. Looks harmless to me. Even if it does have a ridiculous title.”

  I smirked at Dylan. “See? It was only a cookbook. No reason to get all up in my business.”

  She scoffed. They left—Dylan sulking and Grandma blabbing on about the unicorn king or fairy dust or something. I tuned her out.

  I was pretty good at that.

  I glanced down at the book. My heart deflated. It was supposed to be a book about making your magic come out of you. You know, like if you have magic hiding in your body, then you would use that book to get it to work.

  How had I been so stupid?

  I flipped through the pages, expecting to see recipes. But what I read instead was this:

  Only those with true belief can see the tales in this book. All others will be lost.

  My heart fluttered. I kept on.

  To unlock the power within you, first you must believe.

  Oh my gosh. They didn’t see it. Grandma and Dylan couldn’t read the book.

  Only me!

  I slowly smiled.

  I might have some power after all.

  Either that or the book was evil and it wanted my soul or something.

  Hmm. I preferred thinking I’ve got some latent magic hidden inside me somewhere. Yeah, that’s the ticket. Hidden magic. Much better than a book possessed by a demon.

  I stared down at the thing. The cover shimmered. A sick feeling crawled over my belly.

  Yeah. The thing might be possessed. Guess I’d be taking it back to the library.

  Darn it. Just when I thought I might be getting some power. Man, I always get beat by something.

  Nan Gets a Story

  Lunch was Nan’s favorite meal. Not only was it the food she cooked best, but she also dedicated the most time to its creation. Breakfast was usually toast and coffee, and supper usually meant spaghetti sauce from a can along with noodles—but lunch, lunch was when she cranked up the oven, rolled out dough, beat eggs, added ham and cheese and made herself a quiche for two.

  Two being Hazel Horton, the woman she was supposed to be watching/nursing, but Nan was also secretly guarding her from harm.

  And if we’re being honest, Nan had time to cook a real dinner at suppertime, but one of Hazel’s granddaughters, Seraphine, was an excellent cook. When Sera tired of spaghetti sauce—which was every other day—she always whipped up something amazing, which Nan not only appreciated, but looked forward to.

  So Nan never bothered to tell Hazel’s granddaughters that she could cook.

  Why do that when someone could do the cooking for you? Excellent way of looking at things, Nan thought as she poured the egg mixture into the cooled pie crust. She hummed a tune that she had made up on the fly, rinsed the bowl, and wiped her hands on her apron.

  “Forty minutes, Hazel,” she cooed to the woman in the living room. “Then we’ll be eating a slice of heaven.”

  Hazel stared vacantly at the television, which she always did. She had been in a magically induced frozen state for some time. Hazel was a witch, unbeknownst to her granddaughters, and Nan was her protector, sworn to keep her from harm.

  Which was easy in Silver Springs, Alabama. Nothing out of the ordinary lived here. In fact, in the year that Nan had lived in the quaint town, she’d seen neither hide nor hair of any nasty beasty, and she doubted she ever would.

  Nan continued humming her tune, which was a mixture of Amazing Grace and Prince’s Purple Rain. She grabbed her broom and set about sweeping the living room while she waited for the quiche to bake.

  That was when Nan noticed the flicker. It was only a blip, but that one blip was enough for her to know exactly what it was.

  She pretended not to notice it, pretended not to see as the thing changed from a blip to a plume of vapors. It wasn’t a very big plume. In fact, it was no taller than a foot, which was good because all twelve inches of the thing were currently standing on Hazel Horton’s frozen knee.

  Nan watched the green sprite as it turned it’s head from side to side, as if trying to figure out what exactly Hazel was. Not wanting to give the creature time to figure it out, Nan tossed her broom into the air, took it by the bristles and thrust the knobby end at into the sprite’s belly.

  The green creature flew across the room, smacking against the wall. It slid down to the floor, releasing a low moan. It blinked black eyes at Nan. Then it rose to its entire length and brushed off its arms. It must have been male, for the sprite wore a vest and pants. Pointy green ears bent towards the floor and the sharp nose could’ve punched holes in paper.

  “What do you want, sprite?” Nan said.

  His eyes slewed to Hazel.

  Nan took a fierce step forward. “Don’t even think about it.”

  With a small, tinny voice, the thing said, “But she’s asleep. She won’t notice any magic missing.”

  Sprites were well known as magic suckers. Leeches. They were different from magic stealers—when they took magic, the witch was killed. Sprites could borrow power, siphon it off a person, leaving them weakened. They were the vampires of the magical world. This little guy was not getting one drop of Hazel’s magic if Nan had anything to do with it.

  “Like I said,” Nan growled. “You’re not getting one bit of her magic.”

  The sprite narrowed his eyes. At the same time, he brought both fists together and crackled the knuckles of both hands.

  “You think that’s going to intimidate me?” Nan said. “I’m a guardian. I eat twerps like you for breakfast.”

  The sprite ran forward. Nan twirled the broom around, readying to smack it with the bristled end. As the broom swept through the air, closing in on the sprite, the creature leaped off the ground, landing for a split second on the broom. The creature then catapulted off the bristles, sailed over Nan’s head and landed across the room on the rhinestone crown Hazel wore.

  The sprite gave a giggle of victory and inhaled deeply.

  This was it. With that breath the sprite would borrow Hazel’s magic. Nan had one chance. She yanked the bottom of the floral muumuu she was wearing and pulled a smaller dagger from the top of her knee-high support hose. With a flick of the wrist, she threw it at the sprite.

  “Choke on that,” she yelled.

  The sprite paused long enough to see the blade. In the time it took for the creature’s eyes to widen in realization, it vanished in a tangle of smoke.

  The dagger clattered to the floor. Nan smiled. She retrieved her blade, sticking it back in its hiding spot. She checked Hazel for any signs of distress, including a magic drain, and luckily saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  The smell of the baking quiche filled the living room. Nan took a deep quenching breath, leaned the broom in a corner and shuffled to the kitchen phone. She lifted it off the receiver and dialed the number she knew would extend straight into Castle Witch.

  “Hello?” came the husky masculine voice on the other end.

  “We have a problem. I just ran off a sprite. Sucker almost breathed off of Hazel.”

  A long sigh swept over the line. “Watch your back, Nan. You’re my best agent. That sprite will be back now that he knows she’s there.”

  “Should I move her?”

  “No,” he said sharply. “Be ready. Get rid of it and any friends it brings.”

  “Will do,” Nan said before hanging up.

  She gulped. His words meant only one thing. When that sprite returned, it would be him or Nan. Or Nan or him. There would be no choice. Nan needed to have her blade ready. She grimaced.

  The buzzer on the oven went off. Nan glanced at Hazel, the women she was sworn to protect.

  “Ready for some lunch?”

  Roman Has Feelings for Dylan