Spandex Sorcery

  Chapter One

  Tick, tick, tick.

  The second hand moved heartlessly forward, inching the minute hand closer toward a quarter to six. My newest client, Louisa Rutledge, was forty-five minutes late.

  Annoying.

  Don’t let your broomstick ride up your posterior, Wanda, I chided myself. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation. She could have had an emergency for all you know...

  I glanced out the wide front window of my shop. I’d pulled the black velvet drapes aside so I could get a good view of the world outside. Twilight was falling over Main Street like a gauzy gray shawl, comfortable if not a little chilly as winter loosened its hold on Haven Hollow. The street lamps flicked on just after five and cast slanting pools of yellow light across the pavement. Not a soul stirred outside.

  Louisa Rutledge had sounded very enthusiastic about our meeting over the phone. The werewolf woman had a big budget, and she’d even emphasized the need for a rush order. I mean, I figured she’d call if she needed to cancel?

  I tapped my pen against the sketchpad, the fine tremors in my fingers disallowing further action. Sketching more designs was useless until the werewolf in question turned up. And that was the sticking point, because I needed Louisa Rutledge to show up. I’d been in the Hollow for a handful of months now, and while I wasn’t bankrupt, I also wasn’t making enough money to feel comfortable. And my income was nowhere near what it had been when I was part of the Crescent Circle Coven in Portland, Oregon.

  My mother’s line could be traced back to the fifth or sixth century, and other lines could be traced back even further. Careful investing meant that most covens were incredibly well-off financially which was great when you were in one. But, after getting booted out? Yeah, not so much. And that’s exactly what had happened to me—I’d been turned into a Blood Witch by a vampire and, as such, I’d been kicked out of my coven for not being pure enough. So, I’d found my way to Haven Hollow where I’d set up shop selling enchanted clothing.

  “Are you listening?” a peevish, little voice hissed from the opposite side of the room. The voice had a stilted quality to it, rattling from a throat that wasn’t well-suited to speech, though that fact never stopped his diatribes.

  I kept staring out the front window at the shop opposite mine. That shop was a small, quaint little thing, perfectly square and built of brown brick. Time had weathered the brick down to a soft chestnut color. Frosted windows dominated the front, and a little mahogany door stood open between them, letting a slice of warm amber light bisect the sidewalk in front. The shop matched its owner: a soft, cuddly blonde who stood conversing with a tall, gangly forty-something by the door. Bronze cast-metal letters spelled out ‘Poppy’s Potions’ above the shop door.

  Familiar irritation kindled in my chest.

  The Gypsy Traveller woman was my neighbor, and though she’d moved to Haven Hollow first, the success of her business still irked me. No, it didn’t matter that I purchased her potions (she was much better at potion concocting than I was) in order to enchant the clothing in my store. And it also didn’t matter that there was a part of me that actually liked her… because there was another part of me that found her constant happy demeanor… irritating. I mean, who could possibly be so happy all the time?

  “Did you hear me, my consistent, never-ceasing vexation? I was speaking to you!”

  It was an effort not to crane my neck to address the speaker where he was perched on the shoulder of my dress form, rubbing black fur across the pristine cotton because he knew it pissed me off.

  I tugged the lapels of my wool coat closed over the asymmetric pinstripe dress underneath. Cold seeped through the window panes, caressing my bare skin. I wasn’t going to give the cat the satisfaction of seeing me scowl. I was sure I already looked foolish enough as it was, crouched in the front of my shop, face practically pressed to my windows, waiting for my tardy client.

  “Hellooooo?”

  “Yes, I heard you!” I answered, finally deigning to aim a smile at Hellcat, my familiar, dripping enough false sugar to flavor my coffee for a week.

  “Then why…”

  “Just because I heard you doesn’t mean I wanted to!”

  Hellcat hissed properly this time, baring a mouthful of tiny, needle-sharp teeth. His ears flattened to his sleek black head, and his tail whipped this way and that in furious little cracks of motion. Only then did I notice the envelope on which he’d planted his furry rump. It was sealed with wax, and if I squinted, I could just make out the Depraysie crest stamped on it.

  My heart squeezed painfully. Hellcat followed my gaze and dipped his head. His next words made my heart clench a little harder.

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, you deaf old bag. The letter arrived for you today. It’s from your mother. I’ve committed its contents to memory and I’d like to recite them to you.”

  “I’m not in the mood.”

  Of course, he didn’t listen. My familiar never listened to a word I said. Probably because the foul little scrotum was gifted to me by my mother. But he was no gift. No, Hellcat was nothing more than a glorified spy.

  Hellcat bent down, seized a corner of the letter gingerly between his teeth, and leapt from the dress form, landing without a sound on the hardwood floor, weaving through the clothing racks. I’d finally been able to fill them with product in the intervening months. When I’d arrived in the Hollow, things had been... difficult to say the least. Between a bout of bad luck and intentional sabotage by my scheming cousin and warlock, Maverick, I’d been unable to sell much in the first month I’d been in business.

  Hellcat leaped onto the raised platform that held my mannequins and faced Main Street. With infinite care, he peeled back the seal and tugged the letter out, unfolding it for my perusal, in case I wanted to follow along with his oratory. But the last thing I wanted to do was look at Mother’s looping and perfect penmanship. It was sure to ratchet up my blood pressure, something I didn’t need at the moment. Honestly, I didn’t want to hear the letter either, but Hellcat was determined.

  He sat up straighter and cleared his throat, a sound reminiscent of the hacking of a hairball. If he spat up on my dress form, I was going to hex his furry behind all the way back to Portland.

  He lifted a paw and when he spoke, it was in the vaguely posh and highfalutin tones of Mother. Despite the odd inflection here and there, he did an eerily good job mimicking her.

  “Dearest Wandellmellia,

  I hope this letter finds you well...”

  I couldn’t help a derisive snort. ‘Well’? Mother hadn’t bothered to wish me well in a decade or more. Most of her remarks were damning, and others were downright rude. Hellcat lifted his green eyes to meet mine, shooting me a look that was nothing short of mutinous before continuing.

  “I must admit, I am impressed by the success of your venture. And before you wonder just how I am privy to such information, I had Seamus Magauran, the private eye, look into your business. While modest, it is at least making a profit, and that is more than I expected, given the location and your lack of funds. I was quite convinced you would fail and return to me, quite dejected. But, it appears such has not been the case. Brava, dear.”

  My jaw ached with the effort it took not to curse her name to the Goddess because anything I said or did would be reported back to her. My traitorous familiar knew how to operate a phone (no, not joking).

  “More than the relative success of your endeavor, your victory over your cousin, Charmin (aka Maverick) has the entire coven buzzing. But, I’m afraid the method in which you defeated him has a great many of us concerned and with due cause. A zombie, Wandellmellia… really? If you had merely listened to me and taken the house in Tacoma, you could have resisted the temptation to raise the dead. What were you thinking, moving so close to a boneyard? Were you not aware of what that damnable vampire’s blood is capable of?

  You must return to Portland at once, where we can keep a keen eye on you and these concerning abilities you are demonstrating. We could relocate this... store of yours to a more appropriate venue—certainly Portland is much larger than Haven Hollow, thus your success would be greater, as well. But the most important point, dear, is that you require supervision. If you don’t have me looking out for you, I fear your new powers will spiral out of control. You’ll be raising an army of undead within a year, or worse. You may even end up one of them.”

  Of course, by ‘them’ she meant a very nasty kind of undead. Our fanged, immortal adversaries, the vampires.

  Weeks before I’d moved to Haven Hollow, I’d suffered a near-fatal car accident, wrapping one of the coven’s luxury cars around the side of an orthodontist’s office. I should have died on impact, but unlucky me, I’d only managed to pulp most of my internal organs. I’d been dying a slow, agonizing death until he’d come along.

  Lorcan Rowe, dental surgeon and card-carrying member of the undead fang-club. He’d tried to resuscitate me with his blood. Instead, he’d turned me into an abomination, a Blood Witch. Now I was neither witch nor vampire, but trapped in limbo between life and death. I was a thing, reviled by both sides. I should have been killed, but Mother hadn’t had the heart.

  She’d wanted to hide me away in Tacoma instead. I’d flouted her wishes and taken my side hustle to the nearest Hollow, a haven for supernatural creatures of all stripes, and set up shop.

  “Return to us,” Hellcat continued, oblivious to my musings. “If not for your own sake, then for Astrid’s. Did you know she’s been carousing with all manner of inappropriate creatures and championing completely unheard of causes? She’s taken after you, Wandellmelia, in that she’s now enchanting clothing and peddling them! As though she’s a common merchant! Tabitha is furious! And she blames you!”

  “That’s a big surprise,” I grumbled.

  Hellcat ignored me and kept reciting. “Now Astrid is telling Tabitha she believes you should be given the choice to turn into a fully fledged vampire! I fear Tabitha is going to take drastic measures soon because Astrid is completely out of control. We are all beside ourselves, and we’ve come to the realization that you are the only person Astrid will listen to. Thus, come back, dear.

  With all sincerity,

  Celestine Depraysie.”

  By the time Hellcat finished, my knuckles were white. Mother had added the bit about Astrid to purposely hurt me because Astrid and I were close. Covens revered motherhood, and there was no greater honor than to bear children, which meant I had many cousins. Aunt Tabitha was unusual, in many respects. She’d only had two children, in a line that usually produced at least four, on the low end. She’d had a boy and a girl, which should have been a disappointment to any witch. Boys in any magical line rarely showed magic, and if they manifested gifts at all, those gifts were minor. Stuff like sleight of hand or other parlor tricks. Thus, Tabitha might as well have only had one child, Astrid.

  Except... Astrid’s brother, Charmin, or Maverick, as he’d dubbed himself, was no mere stage magician. He was a warlock, a practitioner who could rival a witch in power, the first to show up in a witch line in over seven hundred years.

  And to make matters worse, Astrid, was a red-haired witch. Almost every witch was brunette. Don’t ask me why, because I’m not sure. It’s just one of those things—an undisputed, universal truth. When a ginger does show up, it always means trouble. Red headed witches are the upstarts of the highest order. They’re the sorceresses who make the history books: Morgan Le Fey, Circe, Betanya Tayir, Adisa Delarosa, and the biblical witch of Endor… all redheads.

  Between Astrid and Maverick, poor Tabitha got a double dose of trouble. I couldn’t blame her for stopping at two children. Who knew what would have followed Astrid if Tabitha had tried for a third?

  But where Astrid was concerned—I was concerned. And this newest information was like plucking a harp string, making my heart ache. Somehow the little red-haired witch had wormed her way under my skin, nesting there like an adorable little pest. And Mother knew that. Thus, her seemingly innocent mention of Astrid was completely intentional—there was no faster way to make me capitulate. And Mother knew it.

  Don’t go there, Wanda, I warned myself. Don’t think about it. Mother is just trying to manipulate you. You know what happens if you let her win.

  Mother would stuff me away in Tacoma, forcing me to live a life of quiet desperation, and I’d never see the light of day again. I’d be forbidden to use magic, for fear of becoming some sort of necromancer or blood-craving freak. But, that wasn’t going to happen. Why? Because I’d found the answer. And the answer was a theorem in an old journal that had the potential to undo what had been done to me by the bastard vampire. I just had to keep fiddling with the theorum until I got it right. And that was the sticking point because, thus far, I hadn’t gotten it right. I would deal with Astrid’s plight another day.

  Now, if only I could convince the tight knot of worry in my stomach.

  Hellcat glanced up at me, blinking innocently. I didn’t buy the routine for a second. I shifted my gaze away from him, watching Poppy, the Traveller gypsy, as she continued to stand across the street, covering her mouth and concealing a laugh as she talked to whoever it was she was talking to. Oh, she was annoying and so was that happiness routine. I dragged my gaze away from her and glanced up at the clock again.

  Tick, tick, tick.

  Six o’clock on the dot. Louisa was one hour late. Damn it.

  Hellcat placed a paw on my knee, flexing his claws, tearing small holes through my hose. “What do you have to say in response to your mother’s letter?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? She’s concerned for you, you ungrateful whelp.”

  “She’s not concerned for me. She’s concerned for her reputation.”

  “I disagree.”

  “Well, you’re allowed your own opinion, aren’t you?”

  He growled at me. “What do you wish I tell her in response?”

  “You can tell her I said to guzzle frogspawn, you miserable little pest. And tell her if she tries to weaponise Astrid against me again, I’m going to send her a hex she’ll never forget. An undead one.”

  I fully anticipated the swipe across my knee. It stung, and maybe I deserved it. At the moment, I didn’t really care. I just watched Hellcat leap from the dais, tail swishing violently as he muttered darkly about what he’d do to my best shoes when we returned home for the night. I squeezed my eyes shut and clutched my middle, trying to thaw the ice that slipped into the pit of my stomach.

  Tick, tick, tick.

  Six o’ three.

  Chapter Two

  When Louisa Rutledge finally stepped through my door, I was beyond irritated. I’d been looking out the window every time a pair of headlights scythed through the dark, hoping it was her. More often than not, the car pulled into a slot in front of Poppy’s shop or continued right on past.

  Finally, at ten past six, a sickly green minivan pulled into a space in front of my two-story Victorian. I leased the shop from my irritating vampire landlord, Lorcan Rowe.

  Lorcan and I were having issues of our own—namely, over his Vampire’s Kiss. His Kiss was the only magic a vampire could perform—the act of turning someone into a vampire. When a vampire turned a human, he would essentially give his kiss. But, once the human was fully turned, that kiss would be returned to the vampire in question. Having that power returned to him was essential. But, my metamorphosis had only been halfway complete because I wasn’t a human—I was a witch and powerful in my own right. Thus, my witch blood fought his and I became a Blood Witch. Because my transition was incomplete, and Lorcan’s kiss was never returned to him, he was walking a thin line between keeping his cool and losing it entirely. As I understood it, if we didn’t find a way to return his kiss, eventually he’d lose his mind.

  But, I did believe there was an answer—and that answer resided in Betanya Tayir’s journals her grandson, Henner, had gifted me. Betanya had been the only other Blood Witch I knew of, and she’d kept a series of journals outlining her relationship with the vampire who had blooded her. There, I’d learned of a spell to reverse the Vampire’s Kiss and return me to the witch I used to be. But, when Lorcan and I had attempted it, Hellcat had broken our sacred circle, thus destroying everything.

  Lorcan and I were set to try the spell again, and soon. But, for now, I needed to focus on the harried looking woman who unloaded a half-dozen children from her minivan, all of whom were headed for my store…

  Balls.

  Louisa ushered her gaggle of children into my shop with the speed and efficiency of a stern sports coach, making them form a line and file in one by one. The children ranged in age, with the oldest girl appearing to be around twelve or so, and the youngest no older than six. They were evenly split, three girls, three boys.

  The twelve-year-old immediately crossed over to the nearest clothing rack and began perusing the selection of mini-skirts, while her younger brothers leaned sullenly against the walls or pulled out a Nintendo Switch and settled onto the floor.

  Louisa glanced from her children to me, a soft, pleading look on her gently lined face. She was pretty enough. She had a dimple in each cheek, and laugh lines around her mouth. Grays were only just beginning to streak through her sable hair. Her jawline was strong, her nose narrow and upturned. Dark circles formed half-moons under her eyes, and she hadn’t bothered to put on makeup but, even so, there was a quiet strength about her. A bit of steel in the pale green of her eyes.

  “I am so sorry, Ms. Depraysie,” she said, seizing her youngest by the shoulders. He’d been attempting to worm his way into the center of the nearest rack, playing hide and seek in the sweaters. “I had to pick Jeremy up from his basketball game, and the sitter cancelled at the last second and my folks don’t live in town and even if they did, they won’t make the drive over. So in short... my day has been a mess. I meant to call, but my phone died. Again, I’m so, so sorry.”

  Her eyes were shining by the end of her explanation and she appeared to be maybe a few minutes from having a total and complete meltdown. Hands clasped together, she dropped her gaze to eye the hardwood.