Somebody Tell Aunt Tillie She's Dead (Toad Witch Series, Book One) (10 page)

I shot him a look that would fry an egg.

“Look, if you really think you’re cursed, then let’s go see Mama Lua. Before you turn it into a self-fulfilling prophecy. If anyone can help you, she can.”

A shudder ran down the length of my spine. Mama Lua was well known in the pagan community as a witch doctor who was a bit overly-familiar with the dark side. She was said to be expensive, but worth it.

I shook my head. “Just because I’m having nightmares, doesn’t mean I need an exorcism.”

“What if you’re being gas-lighted by some spirit who wants you to think you’re cursed? Let’s get an outside opinion.”

“And sometimes a cigar is just cleverly disguised bubble gum. Besides, I can’t afford it.”

Gus shrugged. “We’ll just talk to her. A casual conversation. It can’t hurt, right?”

Well, that was a matter of opinion.

He stepped around me and scooped up the bird in a hand towel. “What are you going to do with this?”

I grimaced. I desperately wanted that bird out of my apartment. “I don’t know. Dumpster?”

“Blasphemy, thy name is woman. When the Gods give you a gift, it’s impolite to spit in their many-splendoured eyes.”

“Call me ungrateful, but I would happily trade it in for a toaster.”

“If that’s the way you feel,” he shrugged and wrapped the bird more securely in its towel. “Can I have it?”

“What are you going to do with it?”

“The list is endless.”

I shuddered. “I believe you. And considering your plans for my body, I don’t even want to know. You are totally, completely gross.”

“I’m resourceful. Witch, remember? It’s what we do. Recycle everything. The ultimate in green living.”

“Fine, take it, whatever. Just get it out of here.” I looked down at the mess on the floor. Broken glass, feathers, blood. The bathroom smelled liked death. “I’ll make you a deal. You clean up the crow mess and take the bird away, and I’ll do your laundry without complaining about it. But I still want my latte.”

He gave me a thumbs-up and I walked out of bathroom.

Gus had the mess cleaned up in fifteen minutes. As much as he may not like being domestic, he had the cleaning thing down. The bathroom was spotless. But, as we swapped places and I turned on the shower, a creepy suspicion snuck up on me.

I poked my head out of the bathroom door. “Wait, what are you going to do with it?” I asked, pointing at the crow in his hands.

Gus looked back at me from the hallway. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“I mean now.”

“Right now? Fridge.”

I could just see the decomposing black body nestled up against the cheese and lunch meat. “Not mine, right?”

“Where else? I don’t think Mrs. Lasio’s gonna let me use her fridge.” He whistled the theme from Snow White as he continued walking to the kitchen.

I quickly wrapped a towel around me and ran after him. I grabbed his arm. “Gus. Not a question. Not. Mine. You want it, keep it in your own fridge.”

“What kind of a witch are you?”

“One with a high
ick
factor. I mean it, Gus. I don’t want it in my fridge.”

“Fine. It won’t go in the fridge. Wuss.”

I looked at him, suspiciously. That win was almost too easy. But I decided to let it go. Why fight a win, right?

As I stood under the stream of hot water, I could feel the ick and the creepiness of the morning wash down the drain with the soap residue. When I finally came out of the shower, Gus was in the bedroom, poking through my nightstand drawer.

“That was quick.” I said, drying off.

“Does this really work?” He held up a vibrator made out of a pink gel-like material and turned it on. The penis squirmed and rotated, slightly bending, so it seemed to be taking a 360-degree bow.

“Yes it does and turn it off. He’s the only boyfriend I have. I don’t want you wearing him out,” I wrapped a smaller towel around my hair and squeezed out the excess water.

“You never let me have any fun. Your two-thousand calorie breakfast is on the dining room table.”

“You got back here awfully fast. Light traffic?” I asked, pulling on a tee-shirt and jeans.

“The usual,” he shrugged, non-committal.

A bad feeling started rumbling in my gut. “So… How’s the bird?”

Silence.

“You did take him home, right?”

“Kind of.”

“Gus? Where’s the bird?”

“He’s not in the fridge.”

I stopped, arrested in mid-movement. “Well… That’s good… But… What aren’t you telling me, you lying little bastard?”

“You cut me to the quick, woman.”

“Gus?” I gave him a slant-eyed look. “Want something cold to drink?”

“No, I’m good.”

I strode over to the kitchen and opened the fridge. I scanned all the shelves as I snagged a bottle of water. “Huh.”

Gus opened the pastry bag and bit into a pumpkin scone. “I’m hurt at how little you trust me.”

“Uh-huh.”

He still looked too innocent.

I closed the refrigerator door and stood up. The freezer door caught my eye, seeming just a little bit brighter, a little more highlighted than the rest of the refrigerator. “Gus! You didn’t!”

“You never said…”

“Freezer? I never said freezer? I assumed it would be obvious.”

“See? That ass-u-me thing always gets you into trouble.”

I gave a strangled scream and opened the freezer door. Sure enough, there it was in a ziplock freezer bag, hand towel and all.

“Ziplock keeps things fresh. It never leaks. The company guarantees it. Look at the stripe. Sealed tight. Besides, it’s not like you have a lot of food in there. Crow-flavored ice cubes is a small price to pay to keep me happy.”

I slammed the freezer door shut and chased Gus through the living room, tackling him on the couch.

“Ouch! Gus abuse!” he protested, blocking me with a raised forearm as I smacked him with a couch pillow. “You’re being unreasonable.”

“Don’t even get me started, you big baby. You’ve turned my kitchen into a bird morgue.” I said, smacking him again. “I can’t believe you.”

“Hey, you need me, so be nice.”

“What for?”

“Mama Lua’s for one. And tomorrow is Pagan Pride. We rented a vendor table so you could make some cash-ola, remember? Who else is gonna help you?”

I gave him a blank look. “Oh, shit. I totally forgot.”

“Beat me to a pulp and you’re on your own.”

I thought about it for a second. “Fine. But the bird goes.”

“Of course it will, dear heart. Eventually. Everything does. Besides, it’s already in the freezer. It’s not like it can give your freezer more bird cooties than it already has. So, finish your coffee and let’s go see Mama Lua.”

I groaned.

“It’s not that bad. Think of it as an otherworldly diagnostic. Your life is for shit anyway. Let’s go see if some other entity is giving you a helping hand on the road to hell, or if it’s all just your imagination.”

I sighed and grabbed my latte. It was going to be a long day.

Chapter Eleven

The Crooked Pantry advertised itself as a place for groceries only a witch could love, and it was the only occult store in a ten-mile radius. Mama Lua was behind the counter, blending oils. She was a large Jamaican woman who’d lived in New Orleans for the last ten years. Until the day her Orishas told her to leave. She quickly packed everything she owned and moved to Los Angeles. A week later, Hurricane Katrina hit the Louisiana shore.

The Orishas loved Mama Lua and Mama Lua loved them back, if all the offerings of chocolate, money and orange slices were any indication.

I pulled Gus back outside the front door. “I can’t do this.” I said, gripping his elbow hard.

He tried to pry my fingers off his arm. “Could you just act normal for a few minutes? You’re making this much more epic than it needs to be. Besides, we need supplies for tomorrow, anyway. So why don’t we start there and just ease into the whole curse thing?”

We walked back into the store. Mama Lua gave us a slant-eyed glance, but didn’t say anything.

 ”Hey, Mama Lua.” Gus said, leaving her Alegba a quarter for luck. “Got anything new in?”

Alegba was a large stone, painted half red with one black eye and half black with one white eye. And he seemed to enjoy his gifties. He was sitting on a tray with coins, candy, orange slices and a cigar. What the hell. I tossed a quarter on there, too.

“Oh, honey child. Mama’s always got something new.” Mama Lua picked up the cigar, lit it and blew smoke over Alegba, muttering something that sounded like a prayer in Yoruban. Then she carefully put the cigar out and placed it back on the tray. “What you’re looking for is in the back. Next to the herb rack.”

Gus dragged me past the bookshelves, clothing racks, a jewelry counter, a veritable garden of statuary and over to a small shelving unit in the back of the store. It was filled to overflowing with small containers of oils, resins and miscellaneous supplies: Graveyard Dust, Blue Balls, Florida Water, Dove’s Blood Ink, Bone Dust and Dragon’s Blood, amidst a host of others. And it was right next to a massive, rotating herb rack.

While Gus poked through the herbs, incenses and oils, I went to the front of the store to hunt down small candles and stones to create spell-crafting packets for the fair. I also scored some parchment paper and a pen that looked like a witch stirring a cauldron.

I took an armload over to the cash register, then I went back and snagged a package of Blue Balls and a few bottles of Florida Water to cleanse the apartment.

Mama Lua rang up the total to a shocking sum, but after eyeballing me, she subtracted ten percent from it. “For you, a special discount. Mama Lua looks out for all her little children.”

I gave her a relieved smile. The numbers had been making my stomach twist. But even with the discount, I didn’t know how I was going to afford it.

Gus noticed my discomfort and slipped Mama a wad of cash. “You can pay me back when you get a job,” he whispered to me.

As Mama Lua packed up our “groceries” she started giving me the hairy eyeball, like she knew something wasn’t right. When she handed the bags to me, our hands touched and a little jolt of electricity passed between us. Mama Lua gasped and I jumped.

She pointed at me. “Stay,” she said, steely-eyed.

I wanted to run out of there, but my feet felt like they had been nailed to the floor.

She walked over to the door, locked it and turned the sign to Closed. “You,” she said, crooking her finger at me, “There is evil around you. Dark shadows. Come with Mama Lua.”

I looked at Gus, apprehensive.

He gripped my elbow. “It’s what we came for,” he muttered.

“I know.” I hissed. But it didn’t make the thought of following Mama Lua into the bowels of the store any easier.

In the back of the Crooked Pantry was a yard with eight shade trees, all sorts of flowering plants and herbs, and crates of chickens, as well as an outdoor temple area. The whole thing was surrounded by a ten-foot-tall privacy fence covered in ivy.

The reason for the privacy was because the back of the store butted up against a residential neighborhood. Besides using the outdoor temple to perform her own multitude of secret Yoruban rituals, Mama also rented it out to other groups for their rituals. So it was in her best interest to block out prying eyes.

Not that it made a difference to the disgruntled neighbors. They had tried to shut Mama Lua down a number of times. Rumor had it the neighbors finally called a cease and desist to their war on Mama Lua, when they woke up to find chicken feet on each of their doorsteps.

Personally, I thought they got off lucky. I wouldn’t mess with anyone who practices Voudoun, Yoruba, Candomble or Santeria. They can be pretty dang scary when they’re crossed. Mama Lua scared me, at least. I shuddered to think of what might have happened to the neighbors, if they had continued to harass her.

Mama took three chicken eggs out of the hen coop and put them on her altar. Then she walked around her temple, bowing and lighting candles in each of the directions. When she returned to her altar, she lit a cigar and blew smoke in each direction, then she picked up a fan made of rooster feathers and came over to me.

She blew smoke at and over me, circulating it with the feathers, as she circled around me. My eyes watered and I tried not to cough.

Mama Lua put the rooster fan and the cigar back on the altar and picked up a bowl and one of the eggs. She set the bowl at my feet and ran the egg over my body, chanting in Yoruban.

When she was done, she cracked the egg in the bowl.

The yolk came out solid black.

“Oh, my Gods…” that was me.

“Holy shit…” that was Gus.

“Bad juju. Very bad.” That was Mama Lua.

“So I am cursed?”