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Chapter Three
Clap. Jingle. Clap. Jingle. Clap. Jingle.
I knew who it was. I knew why he was doing what he was doing. I was not giving in no matter what happened. The sky could fall. The Grinch could come knocking at my door.
(Yes, the Grinch is real. No, he is not a slob. Yes, he is somewhat of a hoarder and yes, he has a dog named Max. Oh! He’s also green and furry and makes the best Italian anisette cookies in the world. But, again, I digress…)
Edgarwas baiting me, begging me to enter our four-hundredth-millionth-trillionth argument in our many years together. That evil little man dressed in red and green who wassupposedto have my back, love me like a sister and be my best friend wanted to tease me about my epic failure.
ButI refused to succumb to peer pressure. I would not be lured into making a scathing comment that he could throw in my face. Or worse yet, that he would use as part of a blackmail scheme to get more candy or cookies or peppermint hot chocolate in the future. There was no way in all of Blustery Hollow, the trail to Snowcap Peak, or the crystal brick road to Christmas Mountain – all the places only Santa, Rudolph, Edgar and I knew the coordinates of -that I would so much as take my face out of the pillow to see the smug twinkle in his little, beady Elven eyes.
Of course, that didn’t stop the slow clap or the irritating, nerve-wracking jingle of the little golden bells on his cuffs, and most definitely did not impede the little butthead from throwing a well-played, sarcastically chuckled dig right at my cushion-covered face. “Great job, Ella. Way. To. Go. I couldn’t have done it better myself. You are a superstar, one of a kind, a real…”
“Yeah, well, you’re a real pain in my ass and if you don’t shut up, I’m gonna do worse than zip your lips and banish you to the basement,” Growling through the fluffy downy stuffing, gorgeous buffalo plaid, and amazing stitchery of my favorite pillow, I snapped and snarled, “I don’t care about the repercussions. Big Witch Whammy be dammy! Let it come right through those snowdrifts, in the front door without knocking and kick me right in my perfectly round butt. I don’t care if I get turned into the biggest, ugliest, whitest, rattiest rat that ever lived. I will snap my fingers, wiggle my nose, and fart Jingle Bells then laugh my booty off as you become the amoeba on the flea’s ass at the tip of my long pink tail.”
“But won’t the Witch Whammy comeafteryou’ve turned me into the amoeba? It is supposed to be the repercussion foryourbad decision after all.”
“My bad decision?! Did you seriously just say that I make bad decisions?” I shrieked, as my frump-face Familiar kept right on talking.
“Aren’t you putting the parasite before the rat? Aren’t you…?”
“Thinking about turning you into a toad and feeding you to your sister, Esther’s pet Tarantula, Tammy? Oh, you bet your sweet bippy, Buddy of Mine.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, I would dare. I would dare times a hundred and ten times and then some. I would so dare that I would live the rest of my days right beside Big Daddy and Mother Archer scooping big fiery cat turds out of Satan’s Kitties’ Litter Boxes. I would do it over and over and over again. I would even give up a lifetime of looking lovingly into Liam’s eyes, swooning when he looked back at me with the same adoration and having all his little half-Witch/half-Dragon babies just to know that you were in the belly of that furry eight-legged beauty that scares the crap right outta you.”
Screaming at the top of my lungs, the pillow muffling very little of my rage, I kept right on shrieking like my cousin, Bella, the Banshee. Only, to the best of my knowledge, no one was near death. Or at least that was my fondest hope. Well, except where Edgar was concerned, but even then, I was all bluster and no snow. I loved the little fartface – just don’t ever tell him that. Living with him is already impossible. Can you imagine what it would be like if he thought I actually liked him? But I digress…
Screeching so loud I was giving myself a headache, while taking all my anger and embarrassment out on Edgar…
(Don’t you dare feel sorry for him. You have no idea what it’s like having a cranky old Christmas Elf with bunions, an addiction to double shot mocha cappuccinos, and a beard that grows out of control from Thanksgiving to New Year’s Eveevery single yearthat I am forced to trim, cut, and shave to avoid the risk of being suffocated with old Elf whiskers in my sleep - for a Familiar. Yes, I love him more than eggnog with or without the rum, gingerbread cookies, and my bestie, fellow Witch and amazing cook -Lanette Bekoe’s famously fantastic sweet potato pie, but that does not negate the fact that he is a butthead and takes every chance he can to antagonize me as only a beloved compatriot – almost brother – ever could. So, put the sympathy card away. He might need it after I turn him into an amoeba.)
…the pillow was so tight to my face that I was finding it hard to breathe, but did that stop me? Oh, no way- no how. It definitely did not. I am Ella Brown, Famed Christmas Witch of the Brown Family Coven – I go big or I go home even if it means passing out on my own couch with a pillow clutched to my face.
Apparently, the lack of oxygen derailed my train of thought because I switched from promising to feed Edgar to an arachnid – his greatest fear in all the world – to whining about Liam, or rather, my display of utter stupidity when faced with the one man in all the world created just for me. “How was I supposed to know he was there? What could I do? He took me completely off guard. One minute I was giving Molly all the reasons why I couldn’t go to Nowhere and the next I was looking into those smoldering, sexy dark eyes. Then he smiled. Oh, my fruitcake with rum sauce – Liam Archer smiled at me and those dimples, oh-my-Goddess-oh-my-Goddess-oh-my-Goddess-oh-my…”
Ding-ding-ding-ding, ding-ding-ding-ding, ding-ding-ding-dong…
The sound of the doorbell ringing a happy little tune of my own composition, a remake of the Christmas bells song, cut off my much-needed nervous breakdown and was instantly followed by the loud knocking and deep chuckle of none other than the famed physician of all things Witchy, Dr. Bernardo Beltane Bombay. “Ella, oh, Ella my bella Brown, is everything okay in there? Do I need to make a Magical-medical mediation? Cough once for yes, twice for no. If I hear nothing in…”
“Oh, for the sake of all things red and green and gorgeous, just come in,” I snarled, tossing the pillow to the opposite end of the couch right before Dr. Bombay appeared in the center of my living room, amidst a brilliant cloud of snazzy sapphire sparkles and beautiful blue smoke.
It never ceased to amaze me that not only was the famed Doctor of Witches…
(Never ever never use the term Witch Doctor when referring to Bernardo Beltane Bombay, MD, PhD, PsyD, D.O., D.C., and a whole host of other acronyms that I have not the patience or inclination to list. Calling him a Witch Doctor is a very sore subject. Apparently, just the mention of that moniker dredges up memories of good old Bernie hanging by his thumbs, tootsies dangling over an active volcano, and being fed mangoes by naked native women with rather perky breasts, until he thought the yummy fruit might run right out of his ears. I’ve never asked for details, I’m thinking the whole ‘perky breasts’ had more to do with it than he’s letting on, but I suggest you don’t inquire either.)
Like I was saying, it truly amazed me that no matter what time of day or night it happened to be, Dr. Bombay was dressed in a top hat and tails Furthermore, he insisted on ringing the doorbell, knocking precisely thirteen times, andalwaysasking if everything was okay before Magicking himself into anyone’s abode.
Now, I appreciate the courtesy. However, he only came when called or for a scheduled appointment and not only was he one of the most powerful Magical Beings on the planet, but the Witch who was a Doctor who was a Mage who was a Shapeshifter had been blessed by the Great Goddess with 20/20 foresight.
That is to say, he knew what was going on everywhere and anywhere all the time, no matter what -buthad to ask what was happening on the other side of a closed door because he chose not to look. It boggled the mind, but again, I refused to ask for clarification for fear that I might not like the answer.
Taking off his hat and coat and hanging them on the Nutcracker as if Niles was a coatrack, Dr. Bombay tsked, “I would ask how my patient is doing today, but I can see from the frown on your pretty little face and the cast that is still on your leg that things are much the same as last week.”
“Ya’ think?” I grumbled, glaring at Edgar, just daring him to open his mouth and spill the beans about my latest exploits into the Land that Embarrassment Did Not Forget.
Assuring him with the fire in my eyes and the Magic popping and crackling at the tips of my fingers I would most assuredly make good on at least one of the threats I’d been hurling about just seconds before, my freckle-butted Familiar wisely stayed silent as I griped to my physician, “Why is it taking so long, Doc? I’ve never ever never had anything take longer than forty-eight hours to heal, and that was…”
