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“Yes! Duh! Now, just hold on while I….”
But I was done. My tombstone would not read,“Lucy Abigail Bliss Brown. Death by Gingerbread Butt."
Fist shooting through the pile of rubble that I feared might just become my new home, I grabbed Ginger by the arm with the grip of a Rodeo Star. Using every ounce of anger and embarrassment running through my curvy five-foot-two frame, I grunted like a Siberian weightlifter and ripped her melting cookie ass off my face. Roaring in pain as at least two layers of my skin were still attached to Ginger behind, I gave her a swing for added velocity and tossed her to the side as she screeched, "Don't you dare let go of meeeeeeeee!"
I could only imagine the look on her face. It had to be priceless. I was sad to have missed it and actually smiled until I realized I was covered in red and white icing, my cheeks were on fire, and I had been closer to my Familiar's private parts than anyone ever should have been.
Sitting up so fast it was as if I was in a Looney Tunes cartoon with little purple cartoon bats circling my head and squeaking out a silly song, I slammed my palms atop my chunky thighs and tried with all my might and Magic to make my world stop spinning. Barely able to breathe, a wall of black dots flashed to life before my eyes, spun like a disco ball, and danced the Bunny Hop as if they were on the main stage of The Wedding Singer on Broadway.
It took a second, but I finally realized that everything looked a hundred times worse because I was looking through thick, matted strips of my very own hair shellacked with – yes, you guessed it – itchy, oozy, gooey, melty icing. It was seriously more than I could take. I had reached my limit. I'd handled all I could handle. I was fit to be tied. I could've chewed up nails and spit out a barbed wire fence. I was madder than a snake who married a garden hose, and most of all, my panties were in wad, and I hadn't even gotten started.
Ripping off the hair stuck to my face like an old Band-Aid, I angrily threw that handful of curls over my shoulder with wild abandon. Yes, my cheeks hurt even worse than when I climbed Mt. Everest without sunscreen, and I was sure no amount of Dr. Bombay's Fantastix First Aid Fix would help, but I didn't have time to worry about what I looked like. I needed to see what the hell was happening and where I was before I went absolutely bonkers, and Dr. Maxine showed up with a straitjacket and lime Jell-O I had to suck out of the cup because they were afraid I would hurt myself if they gave me a plastic spork.
Peeling my eyes open, I hissed in pain as more than a few of my eyelashes stayed stuck to my cheeks. Great Goddess with goop on her face, would Dr. Bombay be able to fix me? Who knew. Would I have to depend on Auntie Eleanor and the other Aunties? It was anyone's guess. Would I ever be the same? Only Fate and Destiny knew the answer, and those sisters were twisted and scary.
Wiping away the tears that involuntary streamed down my face, I used the back of my hand to swipe at my runny nose and looked for the asshole who'd caused the whole damn mess. Darkness came in from every direction. I couldn't believe my eyes. Was I really blind? Had my intimate proximity to Ginger's backside well and truly robbed me of my sight.
It just couldn't be true. I would not accept it. I was not going out that way. I was Lucy Abigail Bliss Brown, dammit, and I would kick anyone's ass who dared to say otherwise.
Squeezing my eyes tight, I immediately threw them back open. Once again, it was dark and dank and as cold as Jack Frost's butt plug but thank the little fishes in the deep blue sea, I caught a glimpse of something new. Yes, it was black as homemade sin. Yes, it was dank and musty.
But over in the farthest corner, there was the tiniest of shadows. I wasn’t blind! I could see! But I needed light.
Snapping my fingers, I whispered, “Sorcha.” But nothing happened.
Well, nothing except Ginger's groan of, "Seriously? You're using Gaelic? You couldn't just say, "Light? Or were you trying to call up your Auntie? Please tell me you weren't trying to call up your Auntie."
"Shut up," I growled through gritted teeth. Giving a double snap with an added clap, I reluctantly snarled, "Light." But still, nothing happened.
Well, nothing but a sighed, “Now, you’re trying English?” from my pain in the ass Familiar.
Ignoring Ginger’s running critique, I jumped to my feet and threw my arms out in front of me. Spinning in a circle, I rolled my hands over each other like I was singingWheels on the Busto my cousin Molly's kids and chanted, "Out of the dark with little more than a bark. Turn on the light and make that bitch bright."
Clap! Clap! Clap!“Way to go, Broom Hilda," Ginger spat as she slow clapped like the world's worst heckler. "Get a grip. Stop with the sad choreography. Of course, we have no Magic. If we did, I would've used it to remove your face from my ass before you tore off all my icing and threw me through the air like a dirty Kleenex. What the hell were you thinking? I could've been cracked!"
“Well, I….”
“Well, you what?”
"Well, I didn't think of that," I whispered. Then never one to give up without a fight, I changed my tune and snarked, "Besides, you've been cracked for as long as I've known you, and it wasyourass stuck tomyface.”
“No, it was….”
“It was both!” A voice full of Magic, Mysticism, and some serious Enchantment shot out of the darkness like a lightning bolt thrown by Zeus. Flying backward, I knew Ginger was also airborne and not far from my face.
"Oh, no," I screamed in horror. "Not again! I will not have your butt stuck to my face again." Doing the tuck and roll I'd learned in Wendy Witch's Workout Class, I added, "Get that ass away from my face!"
"Shut up!" The voice bellowed right before my booty hit the floor, and I rolled until I crashed into a wall.
Refusing to untuck, I peeked out under my left arm, found Ginger lying not two feet away, and breathed a sigh of relief. Yes, she was a thorn in my side, but I would've been lost without – and if you tell her that, I'll turn you into a toad.
“Hey, Ging, are you…?”
But that was as far as my whisper got before the tap of the heels of 'she who bellowed' on the cold stone floor echoed through the cave and danced all over the one nerve I had left. My face hurt. I was still in my P.J.s. I was colder than a Witch's titties in a brass bra – which is something only a Witch can say without it being offensive. I was still covered in red and white icing, and most importantly, I was without my Magic.
Looking at Ginger, who was now staring at me, I mouthed, "Who the hell is that?"
Throwing her arms open wide, she shrugged and mouthed in return, “How the hell would I know?”
