All My Witches (A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Fantasy Book 5) Page 4

  “Oh, I bet I know who Alexis is,” Landon growled.

  I knew, too, and we were both right. Aunt Tillie’s face swam into view. She wore a bejeweled floor-length gown with blue accents, more makeup than I’d seen her wear during the course of her life, and a gleaming tiara that boasted what looked to be real diamonds.

  “This isn’t going to be good,” I said.

  “No.” Landon linked his fingers with mine. Perhaps he wanted to make me feel better. Maybe he wanted to make himself feel better. Probably it was a little of both. He anchored himself to me, and we watched the rest with unfettered awe.

  “Alexis is a mother first and a megalomaniac second,” the voice said. “While she’s anxious and capable when it comes to her son’s business, she’s more interested in her scientific endeavors.”

  “Scientific endeavors?” Landon was beyond amused. “Why do I picture those geeks in Ghostbusters?”

  Oddly, that sounded about right.

  “Alexis is keeping her big plan to herself, but those in the know are terrified of her power and fury,” the voice said. “What does she have planned? It’s anyone’s guess, but right now her main goal is to finish construction of her freezing ray.”

  “Freezing ray?” Landon’s shoulders shook with unconstrained laughter. “Now it’s veering into comic book territory.”

  “The freezing ray will be aimed at her enemies – and that list is almost endless – but her ultimate goal is to control the world’s water supply,” the voice continued. “If she can freeze the water before delivering it, she’ll be able to unleash her ultimate weapon … the snow sharks of doom.”

  “Oh, that did it.” Landon swung his legs over the side of the bed. “She can’t be serious with this one.”

  Sadly, I had a feeling she was completely serious … and that was before Aunt Tillie appeared on the screen. It was a close-up of her face, the blue eyeshadow so garish that it reminded me of a mutant Smurf. She opened her mouth to speak, and that’s when I knew we were in a very special world.

  “I’ll get you if it’s the last thing I ever do,” Aunt Tillie cackled, her eyes locking with mine through the screen. “You’re all on my list.”

  So he’s a mobster and everyone is afraid of him, yet from all I can tell the only thing he does is throw bar glasses and knock up every woman he sees. Am I missing something? And, by the way, I totally want to be a soap opera mobster. They get all the play.

  – Landon watching an episode with Bay during a lazy afternoon

  Four

  I was still sorting through my flabbergasted feelings when the television blinked off.

  “Snow sharks? I just … this is worse than anything she’s ever put us through,” Landon lamented.

  “She was watching a movie on the SyFy channel the other day and it had snow sharks,” I explained, my mind busy. “She thought it was a cool idea and was trying to figure out a way to militarize them to terrorize Mrs. Little. She thought she had a legitimate chance of marooning her inside her house for the entire winter.”

  “But why would a soap opera care about stuff like that? They’re supposed to be about love in the afternoon, right?”

  “Yes and no. Soaps are more than just music montages and hot sex scenes.”

  “I always thought they were all about romance and kids dying so the women who play their mothers have an opportunity to cry for daytime Emmys and stuff.”

  “That happens. There’s a lot of action, too. Believe it or not, freezing the world was an actual thing on General Hospital in the eighties.”

  “How do you know that? You would’ve been a little kid in the late eighties.”

  “Yeah, but Aunt Tillie got really excited when Soapnet was a thing back in the day and they ran reruns,” I explained. “We watched them with Aunt Tillie … especially during the winter when there was nothing to do. The freezing the world storyline was a big thing.”

  “Okay, I’m going to refrain from telling you what I think about that story, because it has no bearing on our situation, but what does she expect us to do in this world?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, all the other places she’s sent us have had lessons rolled into the stories,” Landon replied. “The fairy tale world was about overcoming obstacles while also keeping us busy so she could illegally sell her wine. The time we got stuck in her memories was an accident, but you still learned a lot about your family – and especially her – in the process.

  “The Christmas story, however annoying, was about making sure we appreciated family,” he continued. “What are we going to learn in a soap opera world?”

  That was a very good question. “I don’t know. She could simply be punishing us because we made fun of soap operas last night … and cast that little spell that made her itchy all over. She definitely wasn’t happy about that.”

  “No, but she always has several reasons for doing the things she does.”

  “So … what do you think her plan is?” I challenged. “You’ve known her a long time now. You’ve been put through the wringer thirty different ways. What do you think she wants?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know her like you do.”

  I scratched my head as I considered how to respond. “I don’t know what she has planned, but it’s bound to be all kinds of messed up. I know your initial reaction is to stay here, but I think if we do that we’ll simply be delaying the inevitable. Eventually she’ll force us into the world she created if only because she wants us to see all the work she put into it.”

  Landon’s expression was unreadable. “So you think we should play the game.”

  “I don’t think she’ll let us do anything else.”

  Landon ran his tongue over his teeth. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

  His change of heart was surprising. “Really?”

  “We might as well.” Landon flashed a sheepish grin as he hopped to his feet. “I’ve always fancied myself a leading man. I thought it would be in an action movie and not on a soap opera, but what could possibly happen that’s so bad?”

  WE SHOWERED AND DRESSED because it seemed to be the thing to do. I don’t know what I was expecting, but the house I found myself in was so obscenely large it reminded me of a fairy tale castle rather than a soap opera mansion.

  “Look at this place.” Landon shook his head as he stared at the ornate ceiling. It boasted a painted mural featuring men in loincloths dancing around a fire. “Who would live in a house like this?”

  “Something tells me that Aunt Tillie has gone to a lot of effort to make this world as ridiculous as possible. If we thought the future she plotted out for us was unbelievable, just wait. Soaps are already ridiculous. She’s going to take the basics and run with them … and it’s going to be all kinds of ugly.”

  “Bay!”

  I jerked at the sound of my name, swiveling to find Thistle, Clove, Marcus and Sam stalking toward us. They were overdressed – just like us – and they didn’t look happy.

  “Speaking of ugly.” Landon made a clucking sound with his tongue. “Look at Clove’s shirt. It looks as if half of it was designed by one person and the other half by someone else.”

  “She has multiple personalities in this world,” I reminded him. “Aunt Tillie probably wants to remind us of it.”

  “Oh, well, I can’t wait to meet her other personalities,” Landon muttered. “I’m sure they’ll be all sorts of crazy.”

  “I’m sure you’re exactly right.”

  Thistle’s face was red with fury – and her hair was a dull dirty blond, bordering on boring brown, that I hadn’t seen since she was fourteen. “Do you know what that evil witch has done?”

  I nodded. “I saw the recap for All My Witches when we were still in our room. Landon was considering hiding in there, but we figured it was better to face the music rather than try to wait it out.”

  “That’s what we decided, too,” Clove said. “We thought it might take forever to get out of here if we did
nothing. Of course, when I suggested it, Sam thought it was one of my other personalities talking. He’s a lawyer and a brain surgeon, so he decided he should be in charge this time.”

  I pursed my lips to keep from laughing at Sam’s hangdog expression. It was fairly obvious that he and Clove had gone at each other about their backstories.

  “Hey, we might need a brain surgeon before the day is out,” Landon said. “I have an incredible urge to beat my head against the wall rather than sit back and figure out what this world has to offer. I figure it might be less painful.”

  “Oh, now, don’t be a baby,” Thistle chided. “You’re an undercover police officer in love with your mark. Your story isn’t terrible.”

  “Speaking of marks … .” Marcus tilted his chin toward the end of the hallway where a tall man boasting deep dimples that I remembered from the clip reel stared in our direction.

  “Who is that?” Clove asked. “He looks familiar.”

  “Maybe one of your other personalities is involved with him,” Sam suggested.

  “No, he’s the one married to Bay’s character.” Landon’s voice was positively dripping with disdain. “Look at that guy. He’s like a stereotypical mobster. He’s got slicked-back hair and everything.”

  “He’s a lot hotter than most mobsters I’ve seen in movies and television,” Clove argued. “In fact … .” She didn’t get a chance to finish because the man, Michael Ferrigno, was on us and apparently interested in claiming the woman he believed to be his wife.

  “There you are!” Michael grabbed both sides of my face and planted a long, hot and lingering kiss on my mouth. If I wasn’t so surprised by the move I might’ve taken a moment to enjoy it – he was quite talented in that department and didn’t suffer from wandering tongue syndrome – even though I was dedicated to Landon beyond all else.

  “Hey!” Landon shoved his hand between Michael and me and tugged me backward. “Watch your hands, man!”

  For his part, Michael seemed amused more than anything else. “She’s my wife, Jericho, which you very well know. That means she’s my property. My hands belong on my property.”

  “Yeah, I wouldn’t say that again if you don’t want three feet slamming into your groin,” Landon said pointedly. “As for the rest … just don’t do it. I don’t think your wife feels all that well, and she’s probably not in the mood for your vigorous brand of kissing. Isn’t that right, Bay?”

  “Who is Bay?” Michael asked, confused.

  “Echo,” Thistle automatically corrected. “He meant Echo. He gets confused easily. I think it’s from all the blows he’s taken to the head. He’s one of your henchmen, right?”

  Landon made an exaggerated face. “I don’t think he uses the word ‘henchman.’”

  Michael shook his head. “No, I do. That’s what it said on your application right before your interview.”

  “Really?” Landon cocked a dubious eyebrow. “I filled out an application to serve as one of your … henchmen?”

  “How else would you get the job?” Michael turned his quizzical expression to me. “How are you, my darling? You look quite fetching today, although I can’t say I wasn’t a bit surprised when I woke up alone. Where did you spend your night?”

  “Oh, well … .”

  “She was with me,” Clove answered automatically. “We were hanging out.”

  “At the strip club?” Michael made a face. “I’ve warned you about hanging out at the strip club, darling. You’ll get a bad reputation.”

  “Right, because being married to a mobster is so good for her reputation,” Landon muttered.

  Michael ignored the sarcasm. “I have a job for you, Jericho.”

  “He’s talking to you,” Sam helpfully offered Landon.

  Landon shot him a withering look. “I got it. What’s the job?”

  “I need you to get the thing.”

  Landon waited for him to expand on his instructions, but Michael seemed to think that was enough for Landon to figure out what he should be doing.

  “The thing?”

  “Yes, you know about the thing. We’ve talked about it at length.”

  I yelped when I felt someone pinch my rear end, jerking to the side and crashing into Landon. “What the … ?”

  “Oh, don’t act cagey, my little crème brulèe,” Michael teased. “I know you really like it when I … touch you there.”

  Landon’s eyebrows practically flew off his forehead. “Where did you touch her?” He turned to me, his expression murderous. “Where did he touch you?”

  “Why do you even care?” Michael challenged, his demeanor breezy. “She’s my wife.”

  “No, she’s not,” Landon snarled.

  “Dude, you’re supposed to be playing the game,” Marcus whispered. “I don’t think you’re doing it right.”

  “Shut up,” Landon barked. He grabbed my arm and drew me back so Michael wasn’t close enough to accidentally – or purposely, for that matter – brush against me. “Don’t touch her.”

  “She’s my wife.”

  “Stop saying that.”

  I lifted my hands to stave off a potential fight. “Can we get back to the thing? I think Jericho needs a reminder of what the thing is.”

  Michael rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder he didn’t tip to the side. “What do you think the thing is?”

  “Well … .” Landon looked to me for help.

  Michael was a mobster. That could mean he had his fingers in a great many of nefarious pies. I latched onto the first one that passed through my mind. “Drugs. You want him to pick up a … bag of drugs, right?”

  Landon’s expression was incredulous. “A bag of drugs?”

  “You know I don’t run drugs, darling,” Michael admonished. “My brother died from a drug overdose, and I’ve sworn off the practice. How could you forget that?”

  “Oh, well, that’s a terrible story,” Clove offered. “I think it’s great that you don’t run drugs. Drugs are terrible. They rip apart families and break hearts.”

  “How do you know?” Thistle challenged.

  Clove’s eyes flashed. “I’ve seen it on television.”

  “Right.”

  “Maybe it’s a prostitute,” Sam suggested. “Mobsters run prostitution rings, right?”

  The look Michael scorched Sam with was straight out of a Francis Ford Coppola movie. “My sister was tricked into prostitution by an older man who took advantage of her. She died after taking the wrong trick to a bad hotel. I do not engage in prostitution.”

  Sam swallowed hard at the expression on Michael’s face. “Good to know.”

  Landon sighed to silence them. “So the thing isn’t drugs or prostitution. I’m guessing it’s stolen goods then. Do I need to pick up a shipment or something?”

  “Stolen goods?” Michael made a tsking sound, disappointment positively rolling off of him. “I would never deal in stolen goods. I believe in being honorable. You don’t steal things if you’re honorable. Besides, I had a brother who was killed during a home invasion robbery. I honor his legacy by not dealing in stolen goods.”

  “It sounds dangerous to be one of your siblings,” Thistle noted.

  “It is dangerous to be in this world,” Michael corrected.

  “So if we’re not dealing with stolen goods or drugs, how about garbage contracts?” Landon suggested.

  “Garbage contracts?” Sam wrinkled his nose. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Everyone knows that garbage companies are full of mobsters,” Thistle supplied.

  “That’s true.” Clove was somber. “We saw it on television the other night. A lot of politicians are losing their jobs down south because they were bribed by garbage contractors.”

  “Oh, well, that’s just … a smelly thought,” Sam complained.

  “It’s not garbage contracts.” Michael’s agitation was beginning to show. “You know what the thing is. I’m not telling you in front of a group of people … especially my l
awyer.”

  “Of course not.” Landon clenched his fists. “Okay. Fine. I’ll get the thing.”

  “Great.” Michael’s smile was back in place. “While you’re doing that … .” He reached out his fingers and touched the hem of my shirt. “I missed you last night, my darling. I have some time free this morning if you would like to get … reacquainted.” Michael offered a saucy wink that turned my stomach. He was handsome, in a disarming way, and the dimple was utterly adorable. He made me queasy, though. Plus, well, he was extremely touchy-feely.

  “Oh, well, I have an appointment,” I lied, searching my mind for something to offer that he would buy.

  “A photo shoot?”

  I was understandably confused. “Photo shoot?”

  “You’re a model,” Thistle reminded me. “I’m guessing that’s what you do, just sit around and pose for photos.”

  That didn’t sound terrible. “Right. Um, yeah. I have a photo shoot.”

  “Why do you get to be a model?” Clove complained. “I always thought I should be the one to be a model.”

  “You’re not even five feet tall,” Thistle shot back. “You can’t be a model. You’re a miniature horse instead of a giraffe. That’s not how it works.”

  Clove balked. “I could be a great model. I could do it professionally.”

  “You’re a stripper,” Michael offered. “That’s close to a model.”

  “Don’t bring that up,” Clove warned. “I’m offended that Aunt Tillie would even include that tidbit in her horrible game.”

  I didn’t blame Clove. She really had gotten an “out there” story. In the grand scheme of things, I’d gotten off light.

  “I’m going to my photo shoot,” I said. “I’ll be back … later.”

  “That’s fine.” Michael had seemingly moved on from his determination to spend quiet (or maybe not so quiet) married time with me. “I have very important meetings at the warehouse.”

  “That’s good.” Landon forced a smile for Michael’s benefit. “You should definitely go to the warehouse. Just out of curiosity, what do you house in the warehouse if you don’t run drugs or stolen goods?”