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  Wednesday

  Witches of Wimberley, Book 3

  by Victoria Danann

  Copyright 2018 Victoria Danann

  Published by 7th House Publishing, Imprint of Andromeda LLC

  Read more about this author and upcoming works at VictoriaDanann.com

  ***

  CHAPTER ONE He’s Gone Again

  “Earth to Rally,” Aodh snapped his fingers in front of Rally’s face. They sat in a dive bar in Key West hoping the party occupying the table next to the oscillating fan would leave so they could grab it. “Even if you were looking at that little blonde who keeps finding reasons to twitch her butt back and forth, you’ve been out of your body long enough to fantasize all the way to great grandchildren.”

  The glaze over Rally’s near-yellow eyes cleared as he focused on Aodh. “Hmmm? No. I wasn’t out of body. I wouldn’t do that in the middle of a bar.”

  “It was a figure of speech. Geez. What is the matter with you? What do you think is the matter with Rally?” Aodh directed the question to Jean Mar.

  “Maybe he’s just out of it because it’s too humid for humans in this place,” said Jean Mar. “Why are we here?”

  “Because,” Aodh said, “we’re doing a twenty-city bachelor party tour before Rally’s ensnared in the witches’ web.” He chuckled. “For good.” Aodh turned his baseball cap backwards. “Say goodbye to happy days.”

  Rally had gotten one of the witches’ invitations to join them for a weekend in Wimberley. He knew about the weekends and their purpose, but had never heard of a warlock being targeted. “You talk too much, Aodh.”

  Aodh laughed. “Since when? You know I’m kidding. And there’s a good chance you’re not the one. Or ones.” Aodh turned to Jean Mar. “How many do they ensnare every year?”

  “One or two. I think. But watch your words if you don’t want to end up on the auction block.” Jean Mar seemed to be serious about the admonishment, which irritated Aodh. They were supposed to be having fun, preferably at Rally’s expense.

  Rally looked at Jean Mar. “It’s not an auction block.”

  “Oh, I know,” Jean Mar said. “Supposedly the men who get picked rave about how they wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “But they’re not us. Right?” Aodh added.

  “Yeah.” Rally smiled. “But I’m not a man. Not if you mean it in the purely human sense. The sham of bachelor party just went away as your reason to exist today.”

  “You’re not going?” Jean Mar’s question sounded like he might be shocked or might be scandalized.

  Rally nodded. “Oh, I’m going to the witches’ little farce, but not because I have to and not because I have any intention of being… what did you say? Ensnared?”

  Jean Mar looked doubtful. “Then why are you going?”

  Rally’s eyes slid to Jean Mar. “For the food.”

  Aodh laughed.

  Jean Mar shook his head. “Underestimate them at your peril.”

  “They’re. Female,” Rally said as if that explained everything in the universe.

  “They are,” agreed Jean Mar. He was nodding, but also not joking around. He looked over his shoulder like he was concerned the wrong person would overhear, then leaned toward Rally and spoke in a low voice. “They’re also powerful. Like us.”

  Rally and Aodh stared at him for a full five beats before bursting into laughter. When that ran its course, Aodh said, “You didn’t hear me right. I said they’re female.”

  “Look.” Jean Mar’s eyes ping-ponged between his friends. “We’re not talking about who can lift the biggest shovel of horse shit. I know you’re old. Older than I am. But if you think it follows that they’re magically inferior because they’re women? Well. You’re wrong.”

  Rally started to say something, but Aodh held up his hand in a gesture of, ‘Hold on. I’ve got this’.

  “When and how did you become an authority on magical equality?” Aodh asked.

  Jean Mar slouched back in his chair, took a drink of something spicy with rum, and looked around the room shaking his head. “You don’t really want to know what I think.”

  “Sure,” Rally said. “We do.”

  “Alright. In a head-to-head contest, which to my knowledge has never been done, but if it was? They might win.”

  Again Aodh and Rally burst into laughter.

  “Okay. Tell yourselves whatever you need to.” Then Jean Mar directed a warning to Rally. “Walk into Wimberley full of piss and pride, thinking you’re a god. See what happens.”

  Rally sighed deeply then turned up a bottle of Mike’s Hard Lemonade before surprising both his friends by saying, “I’ve already been there.”

  “What?!” Jean Mar and Aodh said in unison. “When?!”

  CHAPTER TWO Who Says?

  The Wimberley Spring Rites were well known in circles frequented by magical beings who secretly occupy the same dimension as humans. One weekend every year scores of beautiful young men were invited to spend a weekend in Wimberley. They were given some vague explanation about competition, but didn’t really know what they were competing for.

  Truthfully, they were not competing at all. The weekends were a chance for one or two young witches who were magically deemed to be of marriageable age by declaration of the Elders Council to get a good look at the man who’d been determined to be a perfect match. Technically the bride was free to refuse, but that had never happened since the tradition began over a hundred years before.

  Since no one had ever refused, some of the young matrons were beginning to challenge the expense, claiming that the entire event was a formality and as such should be dispensed with. Those funds could better be used for a new hospital wing or college scholarships or a new stop sign at the H.E.B. on River Road.

  That last thing was suggested by Harmony, chief haranguer of brides to be. The other three witches stopped talking and looked at her.

  “What?” she said. “Stop signs are important, too. People have been complaining about it for years. Tourists just walk across the road like chickens without a brain in their heads, like we don’t have cars here.” Harmony rolled her eyes. “Like they can’t see there’s a sharp bend in the road and can’t figure out that people on the other side can’t see them.”

  “You know we agreed we were gonna work on not being judgmental about tourists,” Charisma said.

  “I know.” Harmony grunted. “But it’s so hard. ‘Cause they’re so stupid.”

  The others chuckled at Harmony’s facial expression mimicking dumb humans.

  “Okay. I’m proclaiming this Happy Hour,” Rachel said.

  “It’s not even lunch time,” Charisma said.

  “I know, Carrie,” Rachel said, “but it’s Saturday and the men are fishing. And you know I’d give almost anything to see that. Half the guys left here looking like they were being taken on a forced march to work camps.”

  They all laughed. “Not mine,” Harmony said.

  “No,” Rachel shook her head. “Raider’s at home in the great outdoors. Dash, on the other hand, would rather spend his recreation time on the golf course. But back to Happy Hour. Let’s make something special. Mimosas. Or Bloody Marys. Or, wait. I know. Mojitos!” She turned to Harmony. “Harm, would you go to the H.E.B.?”

  “Very funny.” Harmony made a face.

  Laughing, Rachel said, “No. I’m serious. Just a minute and I’ll tell you what I need.” Picking up her phone, she looked up the recipe.

  “I probably have what you need at home,” Harmony said. “Problem solved.”

  Rachel looked up from her phone long enough to say, “Drunk,” to Harmony.

  “Bitch.” Harmony’s comeback was quick but playful.

  “Okay. Here it is,” Rachel said. “I have everything e
xcept the fresh limes, mint leaves and white rum.”

  “Why’d you pick a drink with weird stuff?” Harmony said. “Who keeps white rum and fresh mint leaves in their bar? I didn’t even know there is such a thing as white rum.”

  “Come on,” Rachel pled. “Life is for learning. And pranking your friends. It’ll be fun and, after we ply Carrie with mojitos, we can make her tell us every detail - including the down and dirty - about her fantasy man. It’ll be a super informative experiment to compare notes with what the ‘reality cat’ drags in.”

  “I’m not doin’ that.” Charisma was shaking her head and looking determined to resist the antics of sisterhood.

  The others looked at her with expressions ranging from indulgence to pity knowing that resistance was futile. Before Charisma could respond to the unified demonstration of arrogance, Raven entered through the mud room door without knocking and, after some banging around, arrived in the kitchen. “Hey,” she said brightly.

  “What were you doing in my mud room, Rave?” Rachel asked.

  Rave said, “Nothing?” with big eyes and an expression far too guileless to ever be believable on the face of one of the witches.

  With a tiny and unconvincing huff of exasperation, Rachel said, “Whatever. We’re working on Happy Hour.”

  “You started Happy Hour without me?” Rave said, sounding indignant.

  “No, Raven. You can see we didn’t start without you. We’re just in the early stages of planning an interrogation.”

  “Interrogation?” Raven’s smile turned wicked as her curiosity was piqued. “I’m in. Whose feet need to be held to the fire?”

  “Nothing so medieval.” Rachel waved at the air.

  “We’re using mojitos. Not hot coals,” Harmony said.

  “Just as good.” Rave nodded.

  “I’m not talking.” Charisma crossed her arms and pressed her lips together.

  The other three nodded agreeably, saying,

  “Okay,”

  “Whatever,”

  “Up to you.”

  But they were laughing on the inside.

  Two hours later Charisma was describing her dream man in terms of extraordinarily detailed cunnilingus right down to the color and size of his tongue. “And did you know it can help prevent cancer?”

  “No. But we don’t get cancer,” Rachel noted.

  “Oh, I know.” Sounding tipsy, Charisma went on undeterred. “But it just goes to show how important a good licking can be.”

  After a round of giggles, Raven said, “What about Wednesday?”

  “What about her?” Harmony asked.

  “If we’re going to set Charisma up for the initial smack down of reality meets fantasy, we ought to extend equal humiliation for Wednesday.”

  “That would be a good point,” Rachel said, “if Wednesday was interested in men.”

  “You’re not serious. One of us is not interested in men?” Harmony sounded scandalized. “That’s slander and you must be made to answer for it. Raven, get the coals ready for Wednesday.”

  “Sure,” Raven said.

  “Seriously, has she ever said she hates men?” Harmony asked.

  “I didn’t say ‘hates’,” Rachel corrected. “But she has said she’s not going to participate in the rites.”

  Everybody in the room who wasn’t Rachel gasped.

  “That’s…” Harmony said.

  “I know,” Rachel answered.

  “Why?” Charisma asked.

  “I don’t want to speak for her. You’d have to ask her,” Rachel said.

  “Okay.” Harmony nodded. “Let’s get her over here.”

  “I came for mojitos. Not grilling.” Wednesday laughed a little uncomfortably.

  “Funny,” Harmony said. Then looking at the others, “That was funny, right?”

  “We’re grilling when the boys get back,” Charisma explained. “And I’m sure you’re welcome to stay. Right, Rachel?”

  Rachel turned to Charisma. “Sure, but that’s not the kind of grilling she meant, Carrie.”

  Raven had Wednesday in her sights like a predator. “So what exactly do you mean when you say ‘go ahead without you’?”

  Wednesday rolled her eyes. “Raven, don’t play dense. Why is it so hard for everybody to get that I don’t want to play fated mate crap?”

  The other four exchanged looks. Harmony caught Rachel’s eye and mouthed, ‘Crap?’ with comically bulging eyes.

  “Wednesday,” Raven said thoughtfully. “Are you a virgin?”

  Wednesday looked around. “Is that a serious question?”

  “No. It’s not.” Rachel came to the rescue in full peacekeeper mode. “But you’ve got to admit it’s unusual.”

  “So what? Witches can’t be unusual?” Wednesday challenged.

  “Well,” Charisma began, “there’s unusual. Then there’s unique.”

  “As far as I’m concerned,” Wednesday said, “unique is even better than unusual.” She held up her glass. “These are really good. Can I have another one?”

  “I don’t get it,” Charisma said. “You’re going to… what? Opt out of the rites?”

  “Exactly,” Wednesday said.

  “But why?” Harmony asked the question that was on everybody’s mind.

  “Because there are more important things,” she answered.

  The other four witches stared for a few beats and then burst into laughter.

  “Okay. I get it. She’s punking us.” Harmony laughed. “Good one, Wednesday!”

  “Nope. Not punking.” Wednesday shook her head. “I admit I’m not sure what that means, but I’m ninety percent sure I’m not doing it.”

  Raven looked serious. “I’ll bite. What exactly is it that’s more important that the Rites?”

  “The Anthropocene epoch,” she replied. When the others responded by looking blank, she said, “You do know what it is, right?”

  “Wednesday. Stop being pompous and just tell us.” There was no mistaking that practical, matter-of-fact Raven was getting irritated.

  “Well, according to NASA the earth should be headed into a cooling off period. But no. We’re heating up. Why?”

  “Humans,” Charisma answered in a drunken and disgruntled tone.

  “That’s right. That’s why it’s called the Anthropocene epoch. In short, humans are wrecking it for everybody,” pronounced Wednesday.

  “She’s ruining Happy Hour,” Harmony said.

  “There are more important things than men and mojitos,” Wednesday told her. But to Rachel, she said, “Can I get another one of these?” and held up her glass.

  “Get her another one,” Rachel told Harmony. To Wednesday, she said, “I hear what you’re saying, Wenz, but I don’t get what that has to do with the spring rites.”

  Wednesday blinked a few times. “It can’t have escaped your notice that we live here, too. On Earth, I mean. If they burn the place up, magic won’t save us. We’ll be crispy critters just like every other living thing. On the way to being fossilized.”

  Harmony set a fresh mojito down in front of Wednesday and dropped into a chair.

  Rachel shook her head. “I still don’t get what that has to do with spring rites.”

  Wednesday sucked in an exasperated breath and blew it out. “Because! One of us has to do something.”

  “Do something?” Raven asked.

  “Yes. Try to fix this. Go to the places in the most trouble and try to reverse the bad stuff,” Wednesday said.

  “Which bad stuff do you mean?” Charisma asked.

  “Whole species of plants and animals are disappearing because of carbon dioxide and over-population, cutting down forests that make the air we breathe so companies can grow palm oil and put it in Cheetos.”

  “I like Cheetos,” Harmony said.

  On a roll, Wednesday continued. “Miami will be under water in forty years! FORTY YEARS! The kids being born right now will be the last to see snow. No one will be able to go outside without masks on. T
he purple mountains’ majesty is being raped by fracking. Have you seen what they’re doing? It’ll make you cry. The ocean’s coral reefs? That are responsible for thriving sea life? Fifty percent dead. Sorry. Nothing to serve tonight at Red Lobster. We’re talking Armageddon.”

  “Armageddon is a myth, Wednesday,” Raven said.

  “Well, if the people who died in Katrina were here to argue the point, they wouldn’t quibble about whether the flood that killed them was biblical or not.”

  “She has a point.” Charisma raised a finger into the air.

  Ignoring that, Harmony said, “Wednesday, have you ever heard the phrase ‘buzz kill’?”

  “See!” Wednesday turned on Harmony. “That’s the problem. When you try to talk to people about approaching doom, they tune out.”

  “I can’t imagine why,” Rachel said sarcastically.

  “I’ll tell you why,” Wednesday retorted as if Rachel had been serious.

  “Because it’s human nature to wait until there’s a crisis before people are moved to take action. It looks like it’s witch nature, too. Sometimes that works out. Waiting until there’s a crisis then looking for a solution. But in this case, it’ll be too late to reverse the damage.”

  “The damage can be reversed?” Ever-optimistic Charisma piped up.

  “Yes. If everybody stopped using fossil fuels and switched to solar, wind, and water, the Earth would continue to heat up for a while, but then it would start cooling off again. Like a fever breaking.”

  “Fixing the Earth with solar, wind, and water?” Raven said. “Sound familiar to anybody?”

  “Yes,” Rachel said. “I heard. The four ancient elements. Earth, air, fire, and water. Right up our alley.”

  “Exactly!” Wednesday said. “That’s why it’s up to us to save the world.”

  “You mean with magic.” Rachel sounded incredulous.

  “Well, yes I mean with magic. Isn’t that what you just said?”

  “Wednesday,” Rachel began, “it can’t have escaped your notice that there’s a reason why we live here nestled into a beautiful little out of the way spot in the Texas Hill Country where we keep our heads down.”