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However, on this occasion, the mere sound – the deep baritone grumble emanating from that far dark corner - sent chills up my spine, had my heart beating in a silly, little pitter-pat syncopation that only hormonal teenagers should ever be subjected to, and made my inner Vixen – the shameless flirt that she was – stood up and gave a sexy,‘Hey, Good Lookin’, come on over and light my fire.’
My feet were cemented to the ground. My eyes opened so wide I was afraid they might do that cartoonboing-boing-boingthing in and out of their sockets. My brain had suddenly turned to mush. And, to add insult to injury, the bloodcurdling scream I was about to let loose was frozen on my tongue.
Opening my mouth, doing my best imitation of Harriett, the Beta Fish, I stammered and stuttered, "H-hol- Holy Sh-shit and Shinola. It-it -it…"
"Spit it out," Cleo snapped, jumping from somewhere behind me to my left shoulder, where she frequently perched.
(I'm a righty. The first in several centuries in the Brown Family Coven. It took old Cleo and me a while to perfect this move, but I am pleased to say after a century, or so, we got that shit down.)
"You sound like that stupid doll with the broken rope up in the attic. What's her name? Oh, dammit, why can't I ever remember her name? Goddess knows she bitches about that stupid saggy string every time I'm up there. What is it? Can you remember, Molly? Why did you name her something so hard to remember? You were five. Five-year-olds usually name their dollies shit like Sally or Jane or Suzie. But not you. Oh, no, not little Molly Brown. She had to be original."
I couldn’t remember, nor could I answer. But that didn’t stop Cleo.
“Molly? Molly Elizabeth Brown?” Tip of her wet, cold nose on the edge of my ear, her breath tickling my skin, Cleo whispered, “Earth to Molly, do you remember…”
“Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhh,”the deep voice groaned again, followed by a, “What the fu…? Where am I?”
“Shut. Up. Cleo.” I ground out through gritted teeth.
(Note to self: When stalking a Pumpkin Patch Bandit, do not take your Cat. Not only do they never shut up, but they also have all kinds of extraneous conversations and commentary that do nothing to help with the situation at hand. They will cause you to contemplate murder and devise many, many ways to dispose of the body and an airtight alibi.)
Taking a step forward, I whispered, “I think it’s… Well, that is to say… It sounds just like…”
"Spit it out! Just spit it out! I swear to the Goddess, I don't know why I wake you up. You simply cannot function without caffeine or at least four hours of sleep. What is it with you, Witches? Can't you create a Speed Up Your Sleep Sleeping Spell, or a Get All Your Winks at Once Talisman, or a Stay Awake Without Being Tired Enchantment? Hell, you'd make a million dollars, maybe more." One swat to the back of my head with her powerful tail and my Feline Familiar hissed, "Snap out of it! There's a real, honest to the Goddess intruder in the Patch, and I have unrelated questions that need answers."
Ignoring Cleo, because it’s what I did ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time, I took another and another and another step forward until I was marching towards the sound. If it was who I thought it was, then well, I would deal with it. If it wasn’t, and the asshole doing irreparable damage to my pumpkin babies was just some dickhead with a death wish, well, I would deal with that, too.
Either way, I was Molly Elizabeth By-Goddess Brown. I was a smart, strong, independent, maybe too curvy, but that's not what we were talking about, Witch with a shit-ton of good Magic and the will to use it to protect myPunkins. (Sorry, the southern just jumps right out.)
“Come out with your hands up.”
“What the hell, Molly? You’re not a cop. You’re a Witch. Witches do not say…”
"Come on," I demanded, snapping my fingers. Smiling an evil smirk as lightning streaked through the sky, thunder made the ground beneath my feet shimmy and shake, and water poured by the buckets full out of my big, black Magical cloud. "Show your face, you spineless coward. What did my beautiful pumpkins ever do to you? Get out of my Patch, right now, or I swear by every one of the Brown Witches I'll fry your ass till you can't sit down for a month of Sundays!"
Raising my arm, ready to zap the perpetrator of the first Pumpkin Patch burglary in almost nearly three centuries right in the ass, I got as far as “One… You don’t want me to get to three. Two… In case you’re stupid, I’m almost there. Thr…ahhhhhhhhhhhhh.”
Diving for cover like I'd seen every hero in every crash 'em up cop show I'd ever watched...
(Which would be all of them. It's my guilty pleasure. Give a Witch a break, will ya'?)
...not even thinking of using my Magic to protect my own ass and that of my fickle Feline, I was flying through the air when the most terrifying, gorgeous, fantastic sight I'd ever seen shot straight into the sky. Glittering gold, enormous black wings, a shimmering underbelly that rivaled moonbeams, and a long tail with a gleaming sharp-tipped spade at the end, it was the first Dragon I'd ever seen with my very own eyes inallmy years.
Hitting the ground on my hands and knees, ignoring the pain shooting through muscles that hadn’t been used in forever, I rolled onto my back as Cleo screeched, “Watch what you’re doin’, Molly! Kitty onboard. Precious cargo. Watch the tail! The whiskers are important, too.”
Staring at the sky, unable to look away even after he was long gone, I still couldn't believe it. Of course, I knew they were real. Everything was real. Fairy tales, silly stories, all the books in the fiction section at the library – every damned one of them - was the history of Supernatural Creatures written in such a way as not to freak out the humans. But Dragons? Even Auntie Eleanor had said they were extinct. And Auntie Eleanor wasneverwrong.
Letting out the breath I'd been holding for so long that my lungs were burning and there were spots before my eyes, I immediately realized that Cleo was mysteriously absent. Up on my feet – something that took longer than it probably should have, but I refused to think about physical fitness, or the lack thereof, at that moment – I called, "Cleopatra! Oh, Cleopatra P. Katz, come out, come out wherever you are."
Then I heard it. The telltale sound of my gardening equipment being flung to and fro in the shed behind the house. Jogging for the second time in the same night, something it would take at least a hundred years to forgive my fur-covered tormentor for, I slid to a stop as the door of the small, red-brick barn swung open and Cleo's hind end came into view.
It was too much. Hell, I had to blink twice and pinch myself to be sure I hadn’t hit my head on a pumpkin while catapulting through the air a few minutes before. There she was, the oldest living Familiar in the entire Witchy world with the hem of my dad’s old cast net firmly between her teeth. Using her back feet for traction and her front paws to steer the Cat, Cleo was grunting and growling as she struggled and fought the huge net.
Laughing so hard I had tears running down my face, I let her go on for about ten more seconds before having mercy on my Feline Familiar and lending a helping hand. Snapping my fingers, I magicked Cleo into my arms and the net into a nice and neat folded pile back in the shed.
Flipping in my arms as soon as her fur touched my skin, Cleo's paws slapped onto my chest, and sparks flew from her eyes as she screeched, "What the hell are you doin', Molly? We gotta catch it! We gotta get it! We can't let it go!"
Opening my mouth to ask precisely when she'd lost her mind and how much it was going to cost me at the vet to get her back to her usual crazy countenance, I didn't get so much as a word in edgewise as the kookiest Cat ever to cast a spell, shrieked, "We have to get it. Nobody will ever believe it! Hell, I don't believe it, and I saw it with my own eyes. Thank the Goddess. It's the great Dragon, Molly Brown!"
