Page 78 of Autumn L.A.W

Victoria heaved a great sigh. “Where is your phone?”

He stared at her hard but didn't answer.

“Fine. I'll look around and find it myself.”

Victoria stormed out to the front of the store and found a landline telephone under the counter. She muttered to herself, “I hope I can remember the number of the mansion. I usually just hit the red button, and everyone responds. Now I have to actually dial the old-fashioned way.”

She scrunched up her face, trying to remember the numbers that would get her to the mansion. It wasn't listed in the phone book, not that she had seen one of those for a while. But if she couldn't remember the mansion's number, maybe she could remember one of her colleagues. Um… Nope. She hadn’t memorized any of their numbers. She was so frustrated that she leaned over the counter and hit her head on it several times.

“I have no credit cards, no cash, no phone, and no car. How the hell am I supposed to get to Tennessee?” she asked herself.

Sighing heavily, she tried to come up with a plan. She had no family in the U.S.A. to call upon, and even if she did, she had no way to contact them without phone numbers. She thought carefully, trying to come up with some way to get to Tennessee.

Suddenly, an idea hit her. She had a friend—well, sort of a friend. Raoul was a L.A.W. employee. He lived over the 3-car garage, which didn’t travel when the mansion did. They didn’t need cars in Tennessee. They only stayed there for a week during—ahem—that time. The eight women of The League of Amazing Witches had coordinated their cycles with Seasonale. The remote mountain location kept everyone safe from their Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder (PMDD). Ye olde PMS.

They also celebrated most of the sabbats there, and Samhain was the next one… the most important one. It was a time to honor one’s ancestors and the final harvest. That dry cleaner better be prepared to reap what she’d sown.

Victoria didn’t have a car, didn’t have cash, and didn’t have a body she trusted, but she did have one semi-reliable option. Raoul, the pool boy.

She set off on foot. By the time she reached his place, her legs ached, her temper simmered, and she was one complaint away from yelling at the mailbox. She knocked anyway. Hard.

Raoul opened the door, took one look at her, and blinked. “Rosa? I don’t think I have any dry-cleaning to pick up this week.”

“Wrong witch,” she snapped. “Long story. Let me in.”

He did. She talked fast. Body swap, stolen life, dry cleaner from hell.

To his credit, he didn’t laugh.

“Okay,” he said when she finished. “Okay… Wow. I mean—Wow! Yeah, I believe you.”

Relief hit so hard her knees almost buckled. “Merci. I knew you had a brain hiding in there.”

“I try not to advertise it.” He grabbed a set of keys. “I’ll lend you a car⁠—”

He stopped mid-step.

“… Actually, no, I won’t. Not mine to lend. The L.A.W. owns those.”

She stared at him. “You’re kidding.”

“I like being employed,” he said. “But I’ll drive you to the bus station. Easier. Cleaner. No explaining later, no one yelling at me, no magical audits.”

She exhaled slowly. “Fine. I accept your cowardice.”

“I prefer ‘self-preservation.’ Come on.”

One problem down. Next problem: money.

“Bus tickets aren’t free,” she muttered as she climbed into the passenger seat. “I would travel by limo if I had my credit card.”

Raoul held up his phone like a holy relic. “Good news. You can call your witchy cavalry.”

Her entire face lit up. “You have the mansion’s number?”

“Of course I do. I’m not completely useless.”

She snatched the phone. “Thanks be to the Goddess!”