Misadventures of a Tongue-Tied Witch: Boxed Set Humorous Witch Series Page 3

  For a while in college, I had majored in elementary education and planned on following in her footsteps. One of my many majors that had taken me toward assorted degrees but never quite gotten me there. It had never worked out for the same reason pre-law, pre-med, drama, psychology, and all the others hadn’t worked out in the long run. To do almost anything in this world, you have to be able to speak confidently…and I wasn’t.

  So I’d never finished college, never had a career, just a series of low-paying jobs without much chance of advancement. I’d moved away from home, hoping that being independent would help me conquer my fears, but so far that hadn’t worked out, either. I had to share an apartment to afford the rent, and even though I’d been lucky to move in with Taylor and Beth, all too often they had to pitch in and help me cover my share – or cover it entirely. They had never complained, but I couldn’t keep doing that to them. I had to earn something, hence signing up with the temp agency.

  Hence the sexy witch costume that at this moment was hanging in my closet.

  And hence the spell that had somehow worked, so well that Ronnie Holt had almost danced around clutching himself and yelling “Precious! Precious!” when I reversed it.

  My folks lived on five landscaped acres in a beautiful rustic-style home that was a welcome change from the lookalike McMansions that were so common in new developments. If there had been any trick-or-treaters on these winding roads earlier, they were all home for the night now, happily scarfing down candy from their treat bags. I turned in between the stone pillars that marked my parents’ drive and headed for the house. Quite a few lights were burning inside, and the porch lights were on as well. More motion-sensitive lights came on when I pulled up and got out of the car.

  There was a protective spell over the house, too. I could sense such things, even though I couldn’t cast them myself. It let me in because it recognized me. Anyone who came up intending harm would be in for a rude and unpleasant surprise.

  The alteration in the spell as I approached was enough to alert my parents that I was there. My father had the front door open and was waiting for me. He grinned at me and said, “You’re a little late for trick-or-treating.”

  “Never mind that,” I said. “Just tell me how come I was able to shrink a guy’s d-dick to an inch long today.”

  Chapter Four

  I hadn’t meant to be quite so blunt about it. I probably shouldn’t have been. My dad’s eyes bugged out, and he said, “I – I – I – I – ” like he was the one with the stammer, not me. He looked like he was about to have a heart attack.

  “Don’t worry,” I said quickly. “I’m not talking about my sex life.”

  Not that there was one of those to talk about.

  “I cast a spell,” I went on. “And then I reversed it when I realized what I’d d-done.”

  “But how…” He was still struggling to wrap his mind around what I was telling him. “I didn’t think that you could…And why would you cast a spell that did that?”

  Before I could answer, my mother came up behind him and asked, “Who is it, Edward?” She looked past him, saw me, and smiled. “Oh, Aren! Come in. We’ve already had supper, but we were just about to have some dessert, if you’d like to – ”

  “There’s no time for dessert, Sandra,” my dad said. “Aren cast a spell today. On a man’s…”

  He started to sputter then, almost like a sitcom dad. It would have been cute if the situation hadn’t been so serious.

  “A spell?” my mother repeated as her eyes got big. “Oh, dear Lord. That’s not possible. She can’t…I mean, you always had such trouble, Aren…”

  “I know,” I told them. I couldn’t keep a grim note out of my voice. “Can we go inside and t-talk about this?”

  “Of course, of course,” my dad said. He stepped aside and swept an arm toward the door. “Come in. I want to hear about this.” He got that stern father look on his face. “All about it.”

  As I went in, I couldn’t resist saying, “You might want to be careful what you w-wish for.”

  We went into the tastefully-appointed parlor, where I sat down at one end of a comfortable sofa, my mother sat at the other end, and my father settled into his massive recliner with so many controls and gadgets on the arms that it looked like he could fly the Starship Enterprise from it. He cleared his throat and I could tell he was about to demand an explanation, but then my mother said to me, “I’m sorry, I forgot. Would you like something to drink?”

  I shook my head. “No, thanks.” I looked back and forth between them. I should have felt at ease here with them, the people who had raised me in the house where I had spent a significant percentage of my life. But I didn’t. Not at all.

  Because I had an uncanny feeling that they knew things they had never told me. I didn’t know where that sensation came from, exactly, but my instincts were clamoring with it.

  You wouldn’t know they were witches to look at them, of course. My mom was still very pretty, with short blond hair, and although my father’s waistline was starting to spread, he still had that distinguished businessman look. They could have been any middle-aged, successful suburban couple. Nothing sinister about them.

  So why were my nerves crawling?

  It would be better to just plunge right in and get this over with, I thought. So I said, “I spent the day delivering singing t-telegrams.”

  My dad frowned. “Another one of those temp jobs?” He would have found a place in one of his companies for me any time I asked – my brother worked for him, after all, and seemed quite happy with it – but despite my lack of success at anything else, my pride had prevented me from asking…so far. I think to a certain extent my dad was proud of me for trying to make it on my own, but his practical streak said I ought to just take the job.

  “That’s right,” I said. “I’m working for an entertainment agency. It seems to be a one-woman operation, actually, with a number of p-people freelancing for her, but…”

  But I was straying from the subject, as I usually did when something made me uncomfortable.

  “Anyway, I had to deliver these singing telegrams. I was dressed up like a w-witch.”

  I didn’t mention how skimpy and revealing the costume had been. That wasn’t germane to the conversation.

  “And the last one on my list was d-different,” I went on. “A woman got it for this guy who p-promised to call her but didn’t.”

  It was my mother’s turn to frown in disapproval. That wasn’t acceptable behavior.

  “Anyway, the telegram I sang to him wasn’t like the others. It sounded like…a curse.”

  Ronnie Holt had been right about that. I suddenly found myself wondering if Angela Vandermeer had written the telegram herself. It sure hadn’t sounded like something Sherry would write. I realized now I should have asked her about that. The whole thing had thrown me for such a loop that I hadn’t been thinking straight in a number of respects.

  “What did it say?” my dad asked. He held up a hand quickly and added, “Just summarize.”

  I knew what he meant. I didn’t need to repeat the lyrics word for word. Even though the intended recipient of the curse was nowhere near here and couldn’t hear them, it was remotely possible that it would have an effect anyway…and I knew Ronnie didn’t want that.

  “Well, it was from this woman who was angry with the guy because he’d had a, uh, a one-night st-stand with her and never called her. So to pay him back for that, she wanted to take away the thing that was the most precious to him, his – ”

  “I think we know what you’re talking about, dear,” my mom said crisply. She didn’t want any of the various words spoken aloud right here in her parlor.

  “And that shrunk it?” my dad asked. He winced. Daughters don’t like to think of their dads as guys, but he still was.

  Just like Ronnie had, I held up my hand with my thumb and forefingers an inch apart, and my dad grimaced even more.

  “How did you…find out about that?” m
y mom asked. I could tell it pained her.

  “I had given him the agency’s business card, so he came to the office while I was there. He was very upset, and he t-told me what happened.”

  My mom nodded, still worried but clearly a little relieved. Both of them tended to forget that I was in my mid-twenties, an age by which most women have, well, some experience with such things. In my case…

  Never mind. That’s neither here nor there.

  “What did you do?” my dad asked as he leaned forward in his chair.

  “I couldn’t believe it at first. But then it occurred to me that m-maybe I had actually cast a spell. I know I never c-could before, but I couldn’t think of anything else that would explain it.” I took a deep breath. “So I tried casting a reversal spell.”

  “And it worked?”

  I thought about Ronnie hopping around and whooping and groping himself.

  “Evidently.”

  My father sat back and grunted. “You did the right thing. When your powers bring inadvertent harm to a person, it’s a witch’s duty to correct it if possible.”

  “But, Edward, she shouldn’t have been able to do anything to that man!” my mother said. “She can’t cast spells.”

  “Well, she never could before…” he mused.

  I suppressed my irritation at the way they were talking about me like I wasn’t sitting right there with them. “I n-never sang one before,” I said.

  My father frowned at me. “I don’t recall ever hearing you sing,” he said.

  He was right. The realization hit me with a shock. All kids sing growing up, but I hadn’t. In school, in music class, I had mouthed the words but never actually sang. I’d been afraid that I would stutter and the other kids would make fun of me. As for singing along with the radio in the car, or singing in the shower, for some reason it had never occurred to me to do that. I never missed it. The thought just…wasn’t there.

  Which was almost as puzzling as what had happened to Ronnie Holt’s precious.

  I could sing. I had proven that today. But would I ever have, if taking the job delivering singing telegrams hadn’t forced me to? I didn’t know. I had a hunch it was possible I might not have.

  “Tell me more about what you sang to that guy,” my dad said. “You had the lyrics given to you, right? You didn’t come up with them?”

  “Most of them.” I closed my eyes for a second as I realized I had added something to them without even thinking about it at the time, or since. “I finished them off with a make-it-true couplet.”

  My father slapped his hands down on his knees. “Well, there you go! Somebody slipped you an actual spell, and you sang it and used a power sanction!”

  All witches have some sort of phrase they use at the end of their spells. It’s like an activation key. They can vary from spell to spell, but they’re always similar. In my family, everybody used variations on the make-it-true couplet. I had done the same thing when I cast the reversal spell on Ronnie, again without thinking about it. It came natural to me because I’d heard such things all my life, even though I had never been able to cast the spells myself.

  “Edward…” my mother said, and something in her voice made me glance toward her, then look again. She wasn’t just worried anymore. She actually seemed scared now. She went on, “Edward, this is serious. She shouldn’t have been able to do this.”

  He sighed. “I know. This could be a problem.”

  “A p-problem?” I repeated. I couldn’t keep my emotions under control. “A problem! Really? It’s a problem that I can f-finally do what you and Mark and all of our friends can do?” I shook my head. “Well, I’m s-sorry, but I don’t see it that way. I’m glad I can cast spells, although it m-might have been nice to find out some other way!”

  My father leaned forward, as intent and upset as my mother was. “You don’t understand, Aren,” he said. “There’s a reason for all of this, for your stammer, for you not being able to cast spells.”

  My mom shook her head and said anxiously, “Edward, no.”

  “The girl has a right to – ”

  “I’m not a little girl anymore – ”

  “You can’t say anything else, it’s forbidden – ”

  We were all talking at once now. My mother had gotten to her feet as she admonished my father. His head snapped up as he looked at her and said, “It’s long since past time she knew! She has a right!”

  Like all kids who grow up with both parents around, I’d heard them arguing from time to time. It was an awkward, unsettling thing. But this time, even though they weren’t really raising their voices, I had the impression that this was the most serious argument they’d ever had.

  Or rather, a continuation of the most serious argument they’d ever had, because obviously it had gone on in the past, too. They had fought over me, over my stammering and inability to cast spells. That was something I hadn’t ever seen or overheard when eavesdropping on them.

  “I still say it’s a mistake,” my mother declared. “You’re just opening things up for a lot more trouble, Edward.”

  “We were going to have to deal with it eventually,” my dad said as he stood up from the recliner.

  “Maybe not. But once you tell her, there’s no going back.”

  Since they were both on their feet, I felt like I ought to be, too. I stood up, standing between them and looking back and forth. Whatever was going on here, it was bad. That was evident on their faces.

  “Just tell me,” I said quietly. “Please.”

  My father drew in a deep breath. He looked at me and said, “All right. The reason you stutter, Aren…the reason you can’t cast spells…is because we made you that way.”

  Chapter Five

  The past couple of hours had been full of shocks and surprises, but this was the biggest one yet. My father was telling me that he and my mother, the two people who were supposed to love me more than anyone else in the world, had deliberately inflicted a disability on me that had made my life miserable.

  How could they? And why would they? None of it made any sense to me.

  My mother took a step toward me, saying to my father, “Look what you’ve done. You’ve upset her.”

  I could tell she was going to hug me. I didn’t want that right now. I twisted away from her and moved a couple of steps back. My mother took a sharply indrawn breath and looked hurt.

  “She was already upset, Sandy,” my dad said. “But maybe she won’t be – as much – when she hears the whole story.”

  My mother shook her head. “You can’t tell her that. You’ve already said too much.”

  “You think she’ll ever stop picking at it, now that she knows what she knows?”

  Before my mom could say anything else, I yelled – yes, yelled – “I’m right here!”

  “We know you are, dear. There’s no need to shout. Inside voices.”

  I started to laugh. In a second I was laughing so hard, albeit hysterically, that I collapsed back on the sofa. My whole world had been turned upside-down, and my mother was talking to me like I was a rowdy fourth-grader.

  “I think we could all use some coffee,” my father said.

  “What I need is some wine,” my mother said. “But I’ll bring you a cup of coffee, Edward. Aren?”

  My cackling had died down. I waved a hand weakly. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

  That was a lie, of course. I was far from fine. But maybe I’d be better if somebody would just explain all this craziness to me, I thought.

  As my mother left the parlor, I sat up, wiped away the tears that had welled from my eyes while I was laughing so hard, and said to my father, “Tell me about it.”

  He shook his head stubbornly as he sank back into his recliner. “It’ll be better if we wait until your mother gets back.”

  When he gets that muleheaded look, there’s no arguing with him. We waited in uncomfortable silence for the few minutes it took my mother to return with a cup of coffee for him and a glass of red wine fo
r herself. After she’d given him the coffee, she took her seat at the other end of the sofa again.

  “All right, Edward,” she said. “If you’re determined to do this, go ahead.”

  He sipped the coffee and then set the cup on a small antique table beside his chair.

  “You remember when your brother was little,” he said.

  “Not really, no,” I told him. “Mark’s three years older than me, remember?”

  “Yes, of course, but…you’ve heard stories.”

  “The Sandbox Incident. The Vanishing Cat. The Flying F-Fire Truck. Those aren’t stories, they’re family legends.”

  Mark was proud of them, too.

  “The cat didn’t stay vanished,” my mother said. “And it wasn’t the least bit hurt.”

  “Yes, but he always looked a little wide-eyed and spooked after that,” my father said. “Anyway, Mark was very talented when it came to witchcraft and mysticism, and he displayed those talents at an early age.”

  “Good for him,” I said, trying not to sound bitter, envious, and resentful. Not trying too hard, though.

  “You displayed your talents even earlier,” my father said.

  That took me aback. “I didn’t know I had any talents. I certainly never saw any sign of it until today.”

  “That’s because you were too young to remember.” He drank some more coffee, which made me impatient, but I knew it might backfire if I tried to hurry him along. “You learned to read at a very early age.”

  “When I was t-two,” I said with a nod. “I don’t remember it, but you’ve told me that.”

  “Actually it was more like eighteen months.”

  I shook my head. “No way. Nobody can r-read at eighteen months.”

  “You could,” my mother said softly. “I would read to you, and you began saying the words along with me. I thought you were just parroting me, but then I got a book we had never read before and you were able to say most of the words just by looking at them.”