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Part Three
I’m not a Princess. I do not need saving.
But bless his heart for tryin’.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, Bernice,” I groaned her given name with the loudest of sighs as I rolled my eyes to hide how much it meant to me that she actually cared. To be clear, IknewBernie loved me, and sheknewI loved her. We’d been stuck together for longer than either of us cared to admit and not just because we had to be. I mean, she was way more than just a Familiar, she was Family.
(And if you tell her I admitted that out loud, I’ll turnyouinto a Potbellied Pig in a red tutu.)
The best word I can think of to describe our relationship would be… umm, well, I would have to say ‘sisterly’. To be clear, I have no sisters. It was a Brown Witch thing. We’re all only children born to only children who were born to only children and so on and so on. It had something to do with the whole ‘Brown Witches having aspecialplace in the world’ thing.
(But those Omnipotent Beings made sure we all had a shitload of cousins who were just like sisters in every possible way. They knew the importance of Family. So, I called the Brown Witches and the Powers That Be even a long time ago and moved on.)
As far as I can figure, those powerful Omnipotent Beings believed our ‘jobs’ – our Callings - what we were born to do – would always come with more danger than the average Witch faced. Now, I know to you being the Keeper of the Sacred Pumpkin or of the Christmas Star or of the Spark of Love or of the Flame of Hope or of the Joy of the World or all the other things my Aunties and cousins and I are responsible for sound like sweet gigs - like they're no big deal, but just think…
No, seriously, take a moment and ponder what would happen if the Spark of Love went out for just a single second. If all the adoration, affection, tenderness, and smooshy gooey goodness of the whole universe blinked from existence for even a fraction of a blip of time.
Scary, huh? Yeah, now you see what I’m dealing with…
So, anyway, I knew from having friends who had sisters – not from my own personal experience, mind you, but also from how my cousins and I interacted - that Bernie and I dealt with each other in pretty much the same manner siblings did. We argued and disagreed and generally picked on each other every chance we got – but just let a third party enter the picture and dare to say one bad word towards my pleasantly plump and perfectly pink Familiar. Well, that was when Super Duper Bitch Witch Violet came bursting on the scene.
(You see, Bernie was mine to fight with, pick at, and generally mess with twenty-four/seven, and I was hers – but no one else’s. Somebody messes with my Bernie and there was hell to pay. Point blank. Period. Ya’ feel me? Cool.
Now, where was I…)
Oh, yeah, I'd just finished rolling my eyes when good ole Bernie trotted over to me, stood up on her hind legs, and grabbed both my hands with her crazy little, bright pink hooves. Pulling me down to her level, she looked first in one eye and then the other before giving me a single sharp nod and declaring, “Yep! You’re good.”
Letting go of me with such force that I stumbled backward and barely stayed upright, she gave one loud clap of her hooves then pointed at the lump of ‘stuff’ we believed to be Cupid. “Now, let’s figure out if that’s the Boss. I need to know if I’m gonna live to a ripe old age of two-million-and-three or if the Goddess of Love is gonna cut that shit short.”
“But what about Mick?”
Side-eyeing me with more disgust than was absolutely necessary, she deadpanned, "Salamander Ass can take care of himself. He's a Dragon Guardsman for cripes' sake. We need to save both our asses and make sure that's not the Big Boss. I don't want to be…"
“…fodder for one of Aphrodite’s bitch fits,” I finished her thought, throwing my hands in the air. “Yeah, I got that before. You’ve made your position perfectly clear. You’d ratherIget turned into a gorgeous red and pink greasy spot with great hair and gorgeous eyes on the floor of her Crystal Castle than you. Point taken.” Throwing said hands out in front of me, the tips of my fingers pointing towards the pile of whatever I was nowabsolutelysure wasnotCupid – aka the Big Boss – because he is, after all, a God and would’ve recovered long ago, I sighed, “Lead on, oh, Potbellied Pig of Perpetual Petulance. I’m pretty sure we’re wasting our time, but far be it for me to stop your fun. Let’s go see if…”
“Wait one minute, Witch Hazel.” Stamping one of the hooves that was still on the floor, she slammed the front two on her waist and groused, “It’s not that I want you to get bitch slapped by the wrath of a goddess either, it’s just that…”
“Yeah, I know. I get where you’re comin’ from. No worries, Berns. I’mpretty sureyou won’t let anything too terrible happen to me,” I nodded just to keep the conversation rolling so that I could go find my Mate. “Now, can we just get this over with,pretty puhlease? I can’t feel Mick anymore.” Tapping my temple with the tip of my index finger, I explained, “And after him being back in my brain for the last six weeks then having the sensation ripped away, I am kinda lost. Something really wrong is happenin’ ‘round here and I’m sick and tired of bein’ the butt of the bad guy’s sick jokes, ya’ feel me?”
“Damn straight, Sista,” Bernie emphatically huffed. “We are Beings of Love and Light, but an ass whoopin’ is not outta the question.”
“You know it.”
Having a small portion of our Magic back after being without it and feeling helpless for the last little bit, instilled us both with what we Witches and Familiars like to call Mystical Muscles. (Think beer muscles – like when guys named Bubba and Theo suddenly think they can take on the world, kick all kinds of ass, draw an S on their raggedy old T-shirt and stop a speeding combine with one hand after a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon or a bottle of the cheapest tequila. Don't judge. I'm proud to say that hillbillies – the nice variety that were taught good manners and treat everybody with common courtesy - make up ninety-nine-point-nine percent of my Family. So, I know whereof I speak.)
Stepping forward, I imitated a pistol with the first two fingers of my left hand – my 'spelling' fingers, so to speak – and pointed them at the lumpy mound of cobweb-covered. With my Magic still a little less than full strength and the little Witch in the back of my mind refusing to wake up after my less than stellar attempt to 'fix' our predicament, I was forced to whip up a Spell and pray the Mistress of Magic was listening.
(Who is the Mistress of Magic? Well, she is the second cousin three times removed of the Great Goddess herself and the one relative of our most benevolent Deity with the ability to put thepoofin thespoofand thewhammyin thekablammywhen a Witch’s Magic is not quite up to snuff. Now, she can’t restore said mysticism or remove whatever might be blocking it, but she can give us anenchanted kickin the abracadabra when we need itand- this bit is the most important – we plan to use said Magical wallop for good and not evil.)
“Get off the shelf. Reveal yourself. Please don’t be Cupid. Don’t make me feel stu…whoa! What the…? Harvey?”
Thankfully, the Mistress of Magic was listening. Not-so-thankfully, her crazy cousin, Fate – the silly Trickster She can be – decided to throw a great, big old monkey wrench in my plan at precisely thewrongsecond.
(Think – All the planning in the world can’t beat dumb luck and you’ll get the picture in bright, vivid, technicolor.)
I couldn’t believe my eyes. Like seriously, I was so shocked, I forgot to stop my spell – or worse yet, control where the hell it was headed. The sparks and mist and bubbles that the Mistress of Magic had bestowed upon me and were shooting out of my fingertips went absolutely, completely, and totallyev-ery-whereas my hand flew to my chest, my eyes damned near fell outta my head, and I gasped with such gusto I almost passed out when I forgot to exhale.
