Somebody Tell Aunt Tillie She's Dead (Toad Witch Series, Book One) (11 page)

But Mama ignored me. She dumped the toxic egg remains into a pot of barren earth she kept next to the altar.

Then she bowed to her altar three times, chanting in Yoruban and lit another candle. She picked up the fan and the cigar and blew more smoke at me, fanning it down the length of my body.

Then she picked up a bottle of gin and circled me three times. Each time she was in front of me, she would spray me with a mouthful of gin and chant in Yoruban, alternately pleading with the heavens and spraying me with gin.

I tried not to flinch. Some of the gin got in my eyes. I could feel them tearing up, but I didn’t want to interrupt her to go wash them out.

I looked over at Gus, to see if he was laughing, but he just had an intense, interested look on his face.

Then Mama Lua got another egg and ran it over me again. This time when she cracked it, it was gray.

Mama made a face, displeased. “I will try one more time. If the egg is still dark, you must return. We will prepare a black hen.”

She took a vial of oil, put a little on her finger and anointed me with it, marking my forehead, throat, hands with magical sigils. Then she picked up an Oshun doll she had made from feathers and rocks and used it to do a blessing on me, making sigils in the air, while chanting in Yoruban.

I sent up every prayer I could think of, that the egg would come out normal. I had heard that if you have to return for one of her full-bore cures, it involved blood and gore. A wild dance in the moonlight, culminating in the slitting of a sacrificial hen’s throat. Just the thought of it made my stomach turn.

After another go-round with smoke and gin, Mama Lua picked up the last egg and ran it over me again. As she cracked it, I could feel myself shaking. This time, though, when the yolk fell into the bowl, it was a bright, cheery yellow. The air rushed out of me and I realized I had been holding my breath.

She nodded, happy. Mama Lua bowed to her altar again, chanted something else in Yoruban and blew out the candles.

When we went back into the store, I gave her Alegba the last twenty dollar bill I had left. You can’t have Orishas do that kind of work for you without leaving them something.

Gus was bouncing up and down like a kid, all the way back to my place. “That was cool! Did you see that? That was so cool!”

“Really, not so much, if you’re the one turning the egg black. It’s kind of creepy.”

“Who knew you had that much toxic spiritual residue on you?”

“And you’ve been with me all day. Aren’t you afraid some of it may have rubbed off?”

“Not me. I’m like magic Teflon.”

“Uh-huh. What should I make for dinner?”

He opened my refrigerator and rooted through the crispers. “Ever hear of fruits or vegetables?”

“There’s fruit-flavored gummy bears in the cupboard.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“You just noticed? Produce is expensive.”

“Tell me you at least take vitamins,” he said, giving up on the fridge. “I have no idea what you can make with the ingredients you have in there. Are you sure you even know how to cook?”

“Hey, I know how to do a lot of things. Just because I don’t do them often, doesn’t mean I don’t know how.”

“Thank goodness for that. Or your sex life would be completely doomed.”

Fucker. Too bad he was right.

I cooked up a Mara Surprise, (which is pretty much everything in the fridge, mixed with eggs and some seasonings), while Gus took a shower. It turned out edible, which was more than I expected.

After dinner, Gus flipped on the TV. There was a Cary Grant marathon on AMC. While Gus watched
Bringing Up Baby
, I dumped a packet of blue balls in a bucket of Florida water and cleansed the apartment — physically, psychically, magically — until it felt as clean as I did when that third egg cracked yellow.

Around eleven, Gus stood up and walked down the hall to my bedroom, dropping clothes in his wake.

 ”Hey! What are you doing? Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for a hot date with your latest conquest?” I asked, picking up the clothes as fast as he could toss them.

“Yeah, that. That’s over. He woke up this morning covered in hives and he thought I had cursed him. How ironic is that? So I’m all yours,
chica
.” He crawled into bed.

“So
that’s
why you came over so early this morning?!”

He shrugged. “He was hollering and jumping around so much, I couldn’t get back to sleep.”

“And was he right? Did you do something to him?”

Gus feigned shock. “I’m so maligned.”

“Gus… ?”

He sniffed. “Oh, fine. Maybe I did mix a little pennyroyal in the massage lotion. He deserved it. I caught him in a hot clinch with that curvy tranny singer over at the Queen Mary, when he thought I was in the john.”

I couldn’t quite contain a snort of laughter as I tossed Gus’s discarded clothes in the hamper. Knowing Gus’s easily hurt feelings and sensitive jealousy meter, the guy was lucky he only got hives.

Gus stretched and flopped down on my pillow. “And now, I’m exhausted.”

“Hey! That’s my side, bubba!”

“Life is about sharing, Miss Thing.” Gus yawned. “There’s no point in me going home. We’ve got an early day tomorrow. You should try and get some sleep.” He rolled over and opened an eye at me. “I expect a fresh pot of coffee in the morning. Two eggs, bacon, maybe a tin of sardines. I’m a growing witch and I need my protein.” And within seconds, he was sound asleep.

Bastard.

But later that night, with Gus’s measured breathing and soft snores filling the air, I felt at peace for the first time in ages. I got in bed and without waking, he put his arm over my body and pulled me into him. I slowed my breathing down until it matched his.

As I drifted off to sleep, I idly wondered if this was what married life was like. With the addition of sex, of course. If Gus didn’t feel so much like my brother, he’d be perfect for me. It was a good thing he was gay, or I might be tempted to overlook the whole sibling aspect. With that tan skin, chocolate-brown eyes and long, wavy hair, he was entirely too sexy for his own good. But nothing seemed to fuck up a friendship — even in the pagan world — quicker than sex.

The last thought I had, as I snuggled into him, was that this feeling of safety was worth giving up some bed space for. And this time, when my eyes closed — I don’t know whether it was due to Mama Lua, the house cleansing or Gus — the dreams stayed at bay.

Chapter Twelve

Saturday morning, the Valley was already insanely hot and the only direction the temperature was heading was up. But even the heat couldn’t get my spirits down. Not on a day like today.

I loved going to pagan fairs. I loved the vending tables of supplies that you couldn’t find anywhere else — unusual knick-knacks, one-of-a-kind handmade items, bizarre pieces of esoterica no one else would want. Pagans were generally a very handicraft-oriented lot, valuing personal effort over factory perfection. Unlike most people, they considered the flaws in an item to be a bonus, something that made it unique.

Most of all, I loved the loud, boisterous, fun of it all. The music, the spectacle, the sense of camaraderie. The only thing I disliked, in fact, was the lack of adequate shade from the scorching California sun and my current status of needing to conserve money. So, in deference to my own weaknesses, I decided to leave my checkbook at home to avoid temptation.

It was way too hot to get decked out in full, gothic-style witchware. So I hummed pagan songs while I dressed in a light, Celtic-print skirt, a spaghetti-strap tank top (with built-in boob shelf) and a sun hat. Then I slathered Coppertone SPF 15 on all my exposed parts, slipped my feet into a pair of Birkenstocks and I was ready to go.

Gus, on the other hand, was still in the bathroom, primping. I pounded on the door. “You have three minutes and I’m out of here.”

“Hold your hell hounds, woman. You can’t rush perfection.”

“You are such a girl. What are you doing in there? Brazilian wax?”

The door opened and Gus came out and pirouetted for me. He wore a Celtic sarong around his waist, a tank top and a straw sunhat. “Ta-da!”

I looked at him and laughed. “Great, we’re the Bobbsey Twins.”

“Nonsense, dear. It just proves we’re cut of the same cloth.”

“Are you saying that between the two of us, we’re sharing custody of one brain?”

“You always look at the down side, don’t you?”

We arrived an hour before the fair opened and set up our table with a “Spells Sold, Fortunes Told $25.00” sign.

Gus schlepped the enormous duffel bag of supplies from the SUV and I arranged everything on the table. As the vendors finished setting up and customers filtered in, I was surprised at how many people, despite the insane heat, had shown up in full regalia. Old-fashioned, long-skirted gowns, tightly bound bodices with overflowing cleavage, full-length capes, leather sandals, walking staffs. Many of them (both genders) wore homemade leather belts that held their athames, drinking horns and leather purses. I even saw a few people wearing tiaras and fairy wings.

The great thing about paganism, is that it’s very accepting of all walks of life. Everyone is embraced with equal gusto. From rocket engineers to goth kids to recovering addicts to transsexuals. If you enjoy people-watching, it’s a veritable feast for the eyes. So I sat back and enjoyed the parade of people.

A bearded woman walked by, lecturing a skinny guy with a pocket protector. A woman in her seventies held hands with a guy in his thirties. A leather-clad guy strolled by with three amorous goth girls on leashes. A young woman stopped to check out my booth, arm-in-arm with two really hot guys. One of the guys wore a baby front-pack with an adorable three-month-old girl peeking out the top. After they left, I leaned over to Gus.

“I can’t even get one guy and she’s got two? How not fair is that? I wonder if she’d share?”

“Dream on,” he snorted, checking out the guys’ asses as they walked away. “Sharing is for when you’re looking to trade up or for when your relationship’s getting stale. I don’t think she’s got either problem.”

An older woman with over-permed, over-dyed hair and funky, horn-rimmed glasses walked up and planted herself in front of the table. “I want a spell to make this guy I know fall in love with me,” she said, snapping her gum.

I looked up at her, considering. “Bad idea. Usually, if you force someone to fall in love with you, you get stuck with them long after you want them to get lost.”

“You really suck as a business woman, you know that?” She used the bottom of her shirt to wipe sweat off her forehead, unintentionally flashing us her bra in the process.

I cleared my throat. “So I’ve heard. How about a spell to bring your true love into your life?”

The woman blew a bubble and popped it. “Will it work on this guy I know? He’s really hot.”

“If he’s supposed to be your true love, it will totally work.”

“Okay. Done. And make it sizzling. I want someone who can rub my legs together and start a forest fire, if you get what I’m sayin’.”

Gus chugged on a water bottle to keep from laughing and promptly choked, instead. I smacked him on the back, as hard as I could, while she dug a fifty out of her wallet and laid it on the table.

“Put double the magic in it.”

I nodded. While Gus snagged the cash and squirreled it away, I put together a bag with a small red candle, a mini-stick of dragon’s blood incense and wild rose incense, and a rose quartz crystal. “When you go home, light the red candle for passion. Fire up the incense, it’s a mix of dragon’s blood for power and rose for love. Hold the crystal to your heart.” I took out a piece of parchment paper and picked up my cauldron-stirring witch pen. “Then say this spell I’m writing for you three times.”

“That’s it?”

“Yup. After you say it, burn the paper, and leave the candle and incense lit until they burn out. Then do your best to forget about it and the universe will work its will.”

“You’re sure this’ll work?”

Gus stopped working on the house of tarot cards that he was building, to back me up. “Ma’am, do you know who you’re talking to? She’s the best damn witch in Los Angeles. Of course it’s going to work.”