She nods once, face screwing into a look of pure determination that would put even the most brutal demons in Hell to shame, and sweeps her hands toward me several times. “Be gone, evil nightmare. Be gone!”
“What in the name of… Are youshooingme?”
“I’m… trying to banish you?”
“Try harder, because it’s not working.”
“Which means none of this is real. That’s the obvious answer.”
“It most certainlyisreal.”
“Nope. I’m dreaming. Nightmaring.”
“You’re really not.”
“I just need to wake up and this will all be over.” She presses her fingertips to her temples and closes her eyes, muttering to herself a string of inane promises about never drinking again, only tea and water, straight and narrow from here on out, she’ll even come clean about the money, whatever the bleeding skies any of it means, if only—ifonly!—the goddess will put an end to this crazy nightmare.
I let her go on about it, the temple-rubbing, the babbling and praying, the bargaining, the whole skit-and-skedoodle.
When she finally opens her eyes again, she has the audacity to look annoyed that I’m still here.
“You’re no more dreaming than I,” I tell her, Bearer of Bad News being one of my many titles.
“How do you know? Maybe this isyournightmare, and I’m trapped.”
“Trust me, I’ve had some fucked-up nocturnal encounters, typically under the influence, and this tête-à-tête blows them all out of the wacky waters.” I crowd into her space again, backing her against the wall and caging her in with my arms. “You and I have a serious problem,witch, and if you value your soul, I suggest you figure out how to fix it.”
“I… I don’t know how to fix it. I’m not even sure how it happened.”
A frisson of panic sparks to life in my chest, quickly giving way to fury. “Do you haveanyidea who you’re dealing with?”
“You,” comes the accusatory response, but it’s not from my little mushroom, who’s currently staring up at me with her very big, very blue eyes.
“Olivy!” she breathes more than speaks, then ducks out from under my arms in a mad dash for the doorway, where a black-haired witch clad in a deep indigo cape is unabashedly staring at me.
Recognition is clear in her sharp gaze.
Keeping her eyes locked on mine, she lowers her hood and says to the other one, “Are you all right? I was out for my midnight walk and heard shouting.”
“I… I sort of…” The little witch turns to me, then back to this Olivy woman.
“Go on.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Tell her how we met,mushroom.”
“He… Well… I was just sort of looking through my spells, and—”
“Drunk,” I add.
“A little drunk, yes. And then there was a flash and some fire and a lot of smoke, and when I looked up again, there he was.”
Olivy gasps, her eyes narrowing on me as though she’s just caught the scent of her prey and can’t wait to pounce. “Violetsummonedyou?”
“No, I just happened to get a midnight hankering for tea and decided to pop on over to the land of pumpkin spice, clear across the country, dressed in arseless leather chaps and a satin smoking robe and for the love ofHell, isn’t it obvious? Yes, she summoned me. And while we’re on that subject…” I turn my attention back to the spell caster. “Any particular reason, or just looking for some late-night company?”
“I didn’t mean to!” Exasperation darkens her cheeks. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you! It was an accident!”
“Seriously?” the other woman says. “Violet. How can you summon the Devil by accident? It isn’t the sort of thing that justhappens.”
“Thankyou.” I grab the pitcher of yellow-orange slush she offered earlier. Looks terrible but smells enough like alcohol to get a pass. Desperate times, etcetera. “I’m gladoneof you was paying attention at witch school.”
