“Wanda!” I interrupted as soon as I could.

  “Did someone say engorged?” Darla called out again.

  “Watch what you say or peanut gallery 1 will literally not stop talking about it,” I said to Wanda, motioning with a nod to Darla. “And peanut gallery 2 will lose her shit,” I finished, nodding at Libby, who poked her nose into the room and inhaled deeply, apparently trying to judge whether or not her cookies were ready.

  “Oh, come on, Poppy, we’ve all wondered what Roy’s like in the sack,” Bailey argued.

  Before I had the chance to answer, I had to push Hellcat, Wanda’s furry black familiar, away from my untouched Mai Tai because he was reaching a paw into it like he was ready to call dibs. “And you… quit it.”

  He sat back on his haunches, gave me a disgusted sneer and in his high-falutin’ English accent, said: “Excuse me, young gypsy charlatan, but I happen to be old enough to be your great-grandfather. You will address me with the veneration due my station or I shall have no recourse but to visit you with dire repercussions for my…..”

  My eyebrows shot up. “You’re on drugs, cat.”

  “Drugs?” he drawled, touching his chest with one black paw. “I would never lower myself to partake in anything so crass. I happen to be of a delicate cerebral constitution with a….”

  “Will you get this cat out of here?” I called over to Wanda. “He keeps trying to snatch my drink.”

  “How dare you speak of me in that insolent tone!” he hissed. “I will have you know I possess seventeen advanced degrees and I served the Maharaja of Sarawak for fifty-nine years before he…”

  “Seventeen advanced degrees, huh?” I snorted as I looked at Wanda and she just shook her head as if to say she had no control over him—which was basically the truth. “Let’s see you get a job with one of those degrees. Until then, stop getting your germs all over my drink.”

  He started to say something else, but I put my dropper bottle down again, picked him up, and put him on the floor. I’d heard enough of the cat’s attitude for one lifetime. I didn’t know how Wanda dealt with him on a day-to-day basis. And as to why he’d joined us on this occasion, I wasn’t sure. In fact, I was pretty positive Wanda hadn’t invited him (she couldn’t stand him either). And yet, here he was.

  Just then, Libby hobbled over, her walk akin to Frankenstein’s, and bumped into me. She was still getting used to being corporeal again (or she hadn’t taken her potion remedy today), since she’d been dead since the 1950s. She didn’t seem to notice all the bubbling, squeaking, popping and hissing coming from the lab equipment.

  “Excuse me, sweetie, but I’m a little rocky on my feet today,” she apologized, looking downcast.

  I did my best to teeter on one foot while she scooted in next to me and pried open the oven. A billowing cloud of sweet-smelling aromas puffed into my face. Libby took out yet another baking sheet of chocolate chip cookies and stuck in a new one.

  Libby, now a living zombie, had really come a long way since Wanda raised her from the dead using her Blood Witch Magic. Libby died as a housewife, and she’d never wanted to be anything but. Still didn’t. As she got used to being alive again, she leaned into her former role more and more. I figured it gave her comfort and grounded her in an identity as something other than a half-rotted zombie. Well, the rotted part was a thing of the past—I’d concocted a few potions that luckily stopped the rot and reversed most of it. Now she looked pretty much normal except for a few splotchy spots on her skin—but I was in the process of brewing a potion for those too.

  Libby wore a starched white dress scattered with purple pansies. The dress was belted around the waist to show off her perfect Marilyn Monroe hour-glass figure. It reached her knees and exploded out, courtesy of the enormous petticoat beneath it. Libby’s shoulder-length brown hair was sculpted into two identical upturned Elizabeth-Taylor bouffant wings. The hairstyle, the dress, and the medium-rise heels made her look like she’d just stepped out of Father Knows Best.

  Since being reanimated, Libby had become more June Cleaver in her domestic obsessions, too—cooking, cleaning Wanda’s house day and night—not that you heard Wanda complaining about that part. She just complained about everything else. I couldn’t really blame her though—after raising Libby from the dead, the 1950s zombie had become Wanda’s roommate and then so had Darla, until Wanda had had enough of them and they’d taken residence in the other side of Wanda’s duplex.

  Libby set the oven timer and retreated to the one stretch of counter free from all my clutter. She insisted on claiming at least one potion-free zone where my work wouldn’t contaminate her baking. Libby never said as much, but I suspected she harbored an unspoken suspicion that I was communing with dark forces with all this magic mojo. No matter how many times I explained I was a gypsy and not a witch, she always seemed skeptical. Why she cared what I was, when she knew Wanda was a witch and that didn’t seem to bother her, I didn’t know.

  Chapter Two

  “You ready for another one yet?” Bailey sang out from the sidebar, looking directly at me.

  “None of you should be partaking of the devil’s rot in the first place,” Libby said.

  “Oh, devil rot yourself,” Wanda replied as she held up her empty glass to Libby and smiled. “Cheers.”

  “Got you Wanda,” Bailey said as she faced me again. “What about you, PP?”

  “First of all, I don’t approve of my new nickname and secondly, I haven’t finished my drink yet!”

  “All the more reason I should assist you,” Hellcat said as he jumped onto the counter in front of Bailey, who was facing away from him. As I watched him, he quickly sidled up to her drink and then taking the straw clumsily into his mouth, sipped it down as quickly as he could. I was about to point him out, but then figured Bailey probably wouldn’t care anyway.

  “It would be a terrible travesty to let perfectly decent spirits go unappreciated,” Hellcat finished as he stepped away from Bailey’s now empty glass.

  “You appreciate them, all right,” Wanda said while she frowned at him. Then she bowed over her notebook again. “We have to come up with a name for this group—that was the first bit of business we all agreed to tonight.”

  “First of all, I don’t remember any of us agreeing to it,” I started.

  “Why do we have to come up with a name for the group?” Libby asked from where she was bent over the oven, tending to her cookies.

  “Choosing a name makes it so formal,” Bailey added. “Why can’t a group of girlfriends just get together twice a month without turning said festivities into an organization?”

  “You tell her!” Darla exclaimed.

  “Might I remind you, Wanda, no one here is running for office,” Bailey continued.

  Wanda scowled. “The group needs a name.”

  “I think you’re the only one who thinks the group needs a name,” I pointed out.

  Wanda didn’t notice or pretended not to. “What about ‘Flushed and Forty’?”

  I groaned. “No.”

  “Who knew this party would be full of a bunch of bluenoses?” Darla asked as she hobbled from the living room to the mouth of the kitchen, looking like she was imitating an old woman. Between her toes were white puffs of cotton balls.

  “Back to the task at hand, ladies!” Wanda called out. “Like I’ve been saying for the better part of the last hour, we need to come up with a name for ourselves.”

  “Wanda, your suggestions keep getting more ridiculous by the minute,” Libby responded and no one argued with her.

  “I don’t see what was wrong with the ‘Witchy Winos’,” Wanda said. “Or ‘Flushed and Forty’.”

  “We can’t call ourselves ‘Flushed and Forty’ because not all of us are in our forties,” Bailey replied. “And might I remind you, you’re one hundred and forty!”

  “Fine. We’ll change it to ‘Flushed and One Hundred Forty’.”

  Laughter broke out in the kitchen. I couldn’t help snickering, too, and after re-reading the next step in my potion recipe for the seventh time, I figured I wasn’t getting any more work done tonight. Mrs. Abrams would just have to deal with her potion being a day late. I put the lavender aside, picked up my drink, and turned around to join the conversation, even though I hadn’t yet given up on the experimental potion. That one had been brewing for the last four days and it had to be completed tonight, owing to the fact that tonight would bring a full moon. But, for now, the potion could just sit there.

  “Let’s go sit down and we can talk about this group name Wanda keeps going on about in the living room.”

  “Finally!” Wanda stood up and stretched. She’d lost weight since I’d first met her. Now, she was lean, almost hardened, like a magical Sarah Connor, but her heart-stopping good looks, flashing dark eyes, and straight, raven-black hair never showed the slightest sign of age. Even though she was one hundred forty.

  Everyone migrated into the living room after me and spread out. Wanda perched on the edge of the couch and set her drink on the side table. Hellcat jumped onto the arm of the couch at her side and immediately went back to sipping at her straw, the lush. That cat was putting me to shame.

  Bailey carried her bottles and glasses and jiggers and whatnot to the sideboard—she’d taken an interest in playing the role of bartender at these get-togethers.

  Just then, there was a knock at the door and Libby dutifully walked over to open it. Standing in the doorway was Fifi, our favorite succubus. Fifi was definitely the devil’s gift to men because she was the most perfect looking woman with her long, blond hair, heart-shaped face, full lips and doe eyes. And her body was enough to make you never want to look into the mirror again. Even though she was stunning, as all succubae are, she was hopeless when it came to men.

  “Hi, Ladies, I’m sorry I’m late. I was just doing finishing touches at the office.”

  Fifi had been a realtor at Hallowed Realty while she also worked as a waitress at Roy’s restaurant and bar, the Half-Moon Grill. Once Wanda had done away with Ophelia, Fifi had decided to take over Hallowed Realty, changing the name to ‘Hallowed Homes’. Fifi was also part of the reason I’d broken up with Roy. Not only had we started having problems, but according to a sasquatch witch, Roy and Fifi were destined for one another—but neither knew it. And their being destined for each other wasn’t something I could tell them either. It was just one of those things they had to discover for themselves.

  Was I upset about the situation? Maybe when I’d first learned about it, but it was water under the bridge now. Roy and I were a thing of the past and that was fine with me. And the more time that passed, the more I realized how completely wrong Roy and I were for each other and how totally and completely right Fifi was for him.

  “Are renovations almost finished?” I asked her.

  She nodded as she walked inside and placed her bag on the hallway table. “Yep, I’ve managed to remove anything that even slightly reminded me of Ophelia.”

  “Amen to that,” Wanda muttered.

  “So, will Hallowed Homes be opening soon?” I asked.

  Fifi nodded. “We’ll be able to open in the next couple of weeks!” Then it was as if all the happiness leaked out of her like a balloon with a hole and she walked further into the room, collapsing against the couch beside Wanda.

  “Why do you look like all the wind just went out of your sails?” Wanda asked.

  Bailey, who had just finished mixing another screwdriver which looked like a jigger of orange juice in a large glass of straight vodka, handed it to her. Fifi accepted it and downed the contents in record time, then banged the empty glass in time to pick up another Bailey handed her. Maybe the Witchy Winos wasn’t such a bad name…

  “Slow down a little, Fifi,” Bailey told her. “You’ll fry your brain, drinking that much.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping for.” Fifi tossed back a shot of straight vodka followed by a large swig of rum. “I need to fry my brain to forget my latest dating disaster.” Then she grabbed a glass full of something Bailey had just concocted and brought it to her mouth, downing it in two gulps.

  “Maybe you need a few chocolate chip cookies,” Libby said as she patted Fifi’s shoulder and disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Cheer up,” Wanda said to Fifi. “The thing to remember about men is that thing they say about buses.”

  “That gettin’ hit by a bus ain’t no fun?” Darla guessed.

  Wanda frowned at her. “No, not that one.” Then she looked back at Fifi. “That men are like buses—there’s always another one coming around the corner.”

  “The number of men isn’t the issue,” Fifi responded, shaking her head as she stared into the remnants of whatever was inside her glass—maybe vodka. “It’s keeping them that is.”

  “Well, tonight isn’t about worrying,” Wanda said as she stood up and gifted Fifi a large smile. “Tonight we have a very special event taking place.”

  “We do?” Fifi asked, looking around dubiously.

  “Yes, tonight we commemorate these meetings by giving our group a name.”

  “And Wanda seems to be the only one who thinks we need a name,” I added.

  Wanda frowned at me but then returned her attention to Fifi. “So far, we’ve come up with the Witchy Winos, Haven Hollow Hoochies and Flushed and Forty.”

  “Why do all your name suggestions revolve around alcohol?” Libby asked as she appeared in the living room again, sans cookies. Apparently, they still weren’t done.

  “Because boozing is all we ever do when we get together,” Wanda answered with a shrug.

  “You make us sound like hopeless alcoholics,” I said.

  Wanda shrugged. “Aren’t we?”

  “Speak for yourself,” Libby interjected.

  “We’re doing more than drinking,” I persisted. “I’m making potions, Libby is baking, and……” I looked around the room.

  In the space of another ten or fifteen seconds, Fifi pounded three drinks and showed no sign of slowing down. Each drink must have been a quadruple, or maybe even a sextuple shot.

  “Keep ‘em coming,” Fifi snarled. “If I can see straight enough to drive to work tomorrow morning, I’m laying a complaint with the Board of Hospitality.”

  Bailey gave a cheery, musical laugh and lined up five more shot glasses.

  Now that I faced the room, I realized Wanda might have had a point: our get-togethers did somehow always revolve around alcohol. It was without a doubt the one activity that got the most traffic whenever we got together. Well, with the exception of Libby, of course, who never partook in the ‘devil’s rot’.

  “Maybe we should call ourselves ‘The Devil’s Rot’,” I suggested with a smile.

  Wanda paused a moment, pencil in the air, and then shook her head. “No.”

  Some of us did other things—some being the operative word—but, for the most part, drinking was the main activity. I must have been the only person in the room who hadn’t finished her drink—even Hellcat had finished off at least six. Amazingly, neither he, Wanda, nor Fifi showed any sign of inebriation.

  I sipped my Mai Tai while I wandered into the corner of the living room and retrieved a cardboard box. When I carried it back, Fifi was already facing me.

  “You have to give me more of that Courting Oil, Poppy. I’m desperate. That potion is my only hope for finding a decent man.”

  Courting Oil was a mix of essential oils of lily of the valley, lilac, musk and cinnamon, and it was designed to help the wearer attract the right mate.

  “You’re in luck. I have some for you right here.” I pulled a glass bottle out of the cardboard box and handed it to her. “And here’s another bottle of Caliph’s Beloved for you, Wanda.”

  “Oh, good, I love that stuff,” she answered.

  “What’s it do?” Bailey asked.

  “Excites sexual passions and attracts new lovers to the wearer. It’s also a powerful aphrodisiac,” I answered as I faced Wanda again. “You’ll be able to enchant a whole store full of underwear with that.”

  “What would I do without you?” she asked and held up her glass.

  “And…” I said as I turned to face Bailey.

  “You have something for me?” she asked.

  “Of course. Dragon Shield Oil.” I handed it over. “It will protect you against physical, mental and emotional attacks when you’re doing your psychic work.”

  “Thanks, Poppy!” She smiled and then pocketed the bottle. “Just what I needed.”

  Then I handed Libby a vial of something I’d concocted that didn’t have a name yet. “And, Libby, try this on those splotchy parts of your skin. Let me know if you see any improvement.”

  Libby accepted the bottle with a smile. “I’m forever grateful, Poppy.”

  “You shouldn’t give away your hard-earned potions,” Wanda said.

  “You all are my friends.”

  “So what?” Wanda continued, shrugging. “We can still pay you for them.”

  “True,” Bailey said as Fifi nodded.

  “I can’t pay you for them ‘cause I ain’t gotta job!” Darla said.

  “I could pay you in cookies?” Libby asked, smiling.

  I smiled at all of them. “I like giving each one of you potions and Heaven knows you’ve all bought enough from me to put my son through college.”

  “Ugh, sometimes there is no getting through to you,” Wanda muttered.

  “What was that you were talking about in the kitchen earlier?” Bailey asked. “Did you say you’re experimenting with a new recipe or something?”

  “Yep,” I started and Fifi’s eyes went wider. She was always hopeful that whatever I was working on might be something that could benefit her and her miserable dating life. Little did she know, only she could help herself with that particular quandary.

  “What’s it for?” she asked.

  “Well,” I started as I swirled the contents of my glass, looking down at it. “There’s a section of my great-grandmother’s book that has always been sort of… off limits.”