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“The time Molly, Chloe, and Violet dared you to jump off the tip of the hat of the statue of the Witch that sits atop the uppermost peak of the highest turret of the roof of Brown Mansion,” the doctor finished my sentence. “Yes, I remember. It was a modern Magical medical miracle. Forty-eight broken bones healed in forty-eight hours. I received the Witch’s Council Miracle Worker Award and was named Doctor of Witches of the Year, not to mention the four-page spread in Witches Wardly and the title of World-Renowned Doctor of Witches that I still hold to this day.”
“And I got grounded for six months with no Magic, no cookies, no twinkling lights in my room, and not even a sprig of mistletoe to keep me company,” I grumped, remembering how I took the dare to jump off the room of Brown Mansion and fly across the full moon without my broom, my wand, or the tiniest of spells because I wanted to impress one very handsome, smoldering-eyed young man who happened to be camping out with his brothers on the other side of Raven’s Ridge.
(At the time, I didn’t know Liam was a Dragon. Hell, everybody with any Magic in their veins believed the Archer boys were Nulls – they were from a long line of Magical folk but had none of their own. I was forbidden from seeing, dating, kissing, holding hands with, or doinganything at allwith Liam Archer by my mom, my dad, all seventeen of my aunties, and let us not forget because she would kick my ass – none other than Granny Brown.
No, really, they threatened me. Scared the bejeezus right outta me. I didn’t dare defy them. I mean, I knew Molly was sneaking out to see Nate and not getting caught. Hell, I kept her secret, even helped her by using my Sneaky Pete spell to make her invisible a time or two. But she’s a couple of years older than I am and her parents weren’t as strict as mine.
I tried to be good, and do what my family wanted, but the heart wants what the heart wants. And, in the end, being forbidden from seeing Liam didn’t stop me from jumping off the roof to get his attention, so, I guess that says more about me than my family. But let’s move on before either of us thinks about that for too long, okay?)
“Let’s have a look.” With a wave of his hand, Dr. Bombay turned my red, green, and gold plaid couch into an exam table, removed the cast from my leg, and gently set my pleasingly plump behind on the cold, black leather all before I could say, “Can’t we just use my couch?”
Twirling the end of his rather large and illustrious ebony, handlebar mustache, the doctor’s brows furrowed, and he mumbled, “Well, this will just not do. Won’t do at all.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, trying hard not to sound as freaked out as I truly was.
Unfortunately, I lost the battle.
Voice coming out two octaves higher than usual and three decibels louder, I squealed, “Don’t just stand there! Tell me what that means.”
Still not answering, actually, if I’m honest - which I always am - he pretty much acted like I wasn’t in the room, Dr. Bombay grabbed the handle of his little black bag, clicked open the shiny silver clasp, and pulled open the sides. Finally looking up and giving me a wink at the exact same time that the enchantment of his Mystical, Magical Mending Machine started to fill my humble - yet gorgeously decorated - adobe with silver sparkles, popping, golden fireworks and every hue of blue smoke, glitter, and confetti ever created, the distinguished Doctor of Witches started to assure, “Oh, it’s nothing I can’t han…ahhhhhhhh – oooooooohhhhhhhh, noooooooo! Wh-the fuuuuuuuuuuuuuudge. This can’t beeeeeeeeeeeee happ…”
And that was as far as he got before all the beautiful Magic of the great and wonderful Dr. Bombay turned black and gray. My little, cute cabin in Blustery Hollow started to shimmy and shake, and my frumptastic Familiar screamed, “Hold onto your ass, Ella! Shit’s about to hit the faaaaaaaa…!”
Of course, because if it wasn’t for bad luck, I would’ve had no luck at all and I felt like the bottom of the barrel last name on the Naughty list worse kid in the world at that point, I wasn’t at all shocked when a big, black, swirling vortex of sorcery and evil opened right in front of my fireplace. Didn’t even bat an eye when a low, rumbling, ominous voice grumbled, “And now, you, Ella Brown, and your blasted Spirit of Christmas are mine.”
All I could do was follow Edgar’s advice and hold on to my perfectly round behind, as I was sucked into that twirling portal all the while yelling, “Yeah, well, bring it on, Asshole!”
