Accidental Magic (2 page)

I’d like to thank Berkley, and especially my talented editor, Christine Zika, for publishing this author-created anthology. It’s wonderful when your publisher believes in you.

Thank you to my agent and friend, Meredith Bernstein, who said, “Absolutely!” when I called her with this idea.

And a big THANKS GIRLFRIENDS to Gena Showalter (my partner in crime in the inception of this anthology), Susan Grant, and MaryJanice Davidson. It was such fun to work on this with the three of you. Let’s do it again soon!

1

“Godiva! Wait—wait—wait. Did you just say that you and your sisters called forth the dead two nights ago?” Candice said, rubbing her forehead where it was beginning to ache.

“Yeah, but you missed the important part. Romeo was…
spectacular,
” Godiva said breathlessly into the phone. “Who knew that poor, wounded wolf would turn into something—I mean, some
one
—so delectable.”

“So he actually did more than hump your leg this time?”

“Candy Cox—I swear you haven’t been listening.”

“You know I hate it when you call me that.”

“Fine.
Candice
, you haven’t been listening,” Godiva said. “He’s
not just a wolf. He’s a
were
wolf, which means he has an excellent tongue and he humps a lot more than my leg.”

Candice kept muttering as if Godiva hadn’t spoken. “It’s not like I don’t get enough of that name crap at school. Why I ever decided to attempt to teach high school morons I’ll never know.” She cringed inwardly, remembering the countless times some hormone-impaired sixteen-year-old boy had made a wiseass remark (usually replete with sophomoric clichés) about her name. God, she was truly sick and tired of Mysteria High School—Home of the Fighting Fairies.

“You could have kept one of your ex-husbands’ names,” Godiva said helpfully.

“Oh, please,” Candice scoffed. “I’d rather sound like a porn star than keep any reminders of ex-husband numbers one through five. No. My solution is to change careers. As soon as I finish my online master’s in creative writing I can dump the fucking Fighting Fairies and snag that job in Denver as assistant editor for Full Moon Press.”

“Honey, have I told you lately that you have a very nasty mouth for a schoolteacher?”

“Yes. And I do believe I’ve told you that I
have
said nasty mouth
because
I’m a schoolteacher. Uh, please. Shall we take a moment to recall the one and only day you subbed for me?”

Godiva shuddered. “Ack! Do not remind me. I take back any form of criticism for your coarse language. Those teenagers
are worse than a whole assortment of wraiths, demons, and undead. I mean, really, some of them even smell worse!” Just remembering had her making an automatic retching sound. “But Candice, seriously, I don’t want you to move!”

“Denver’s not that far away—we shop till we drop there several times a year. You know I need a change. The teenage monsters are wearing on me.”

“I know,” Godiva sighed. Then she brightened. “Hey! I could work on a spell that might help shut those boys up whenever they try to speak your name. Maybe something to do with testicles and tiny brains…”

“That’s really sweet of you, but you know that magic doesn’t work on or around me, so it probably wouldn’t work on my name, either.” Candice sighed. It was true. As a descendant of one of the few nonmagical founders of the town (his name was, appropriately, John Smith), Candice had No Magic at All. Yes, sadly, she lived in a town full of witches, warlocks, vampires, fairies, werewolves, et cetera, et cetera, and her magic was nonmagic. It figured. Her magic worked like her marriages. Not at all. “Men are such a pain in the ass.”

Without losing a beat at her friend’s sudden change in subjects, Godiva giggled. “I agree completely, which is why I know exactly what you need—a werewolf lover.”

“Godiva Tawdry! I’m too damn old to roll around the woods with a dog.”

“A werewolf is not a dog. And forty is not old. Plus, you look ten years younger. Why do you think high school boys still get crushes on you,
Ms. Candy Cox
?”

“Put boobs on a snake and high school boys would chase after it. And don’t call me Candy.”

Godiva laughed. “True, but that doesn’t make you any less attractive. You’ve got a killer body, Ms. Cox.”

“I’m fat.”

“You’re curvy.”

“I’m old.”

“You’re ripe.”

“Godiva! Do you not remember what happened last time I let myself commit matrimony?”

“Clearly,” Godiva said. “It took ex-husband number five less than six months to almost bore you to death. And he seemed like such a nice guy.”

“Yes, I admit he did seem nice. They all did at first.” Candice sighed. “Who knew that he would literally almost kill me? And after my brush with death, I decided that I. Am. Done.”

“Okay, look. You accidentally took an unhealthy mixture of Zoloft, Xanax, and pinot grigio. It could happen to anyone, especially when she’s being bored to death by a man scratching himself while he incessantly flips from the History Channel to CNN—”

“—And pops Viagra like they’re M&Ms and thinks that the telltale oh-so-attractive capillary flush constitutes foreplay,”
Candice interrupted. “Yeesh. I’m going to just say no from here on out. Truly.I’ve sworn off men.”

“No, I remember exactly what you said. ‘Godiva’—here you raised your fist to the sky like Scarlett O’Hara—‘I will never marry again.’ So you’ve sworn off marriage, not men. And anyway, a werewolf is not technically a man. Or at least if he is, it’s only for part of the time. The rest of the time he is the most adorably cuddly sweet furry—”

“Fine.” Candice cut off Godiva’s gushing. “I’ll think about it.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”
No
, she thought. She hurried on before Godiva could press the point. “I’ve really gotta go. I’m deep in the middle of Homework Hell. I have to turn in my poetry collection to the online creative writing professor next week, and I still haven’t figured out a theme for the damn thing. I’m totally screwed if I can’t get rid of this writer’s block.”

“Well…” Godiva giggled mischievously. “I don’t know how it’d work on writer’s block, but Romeo sure unclogged me last night.”

“You’re not helping.”

“I’m just saying—a little werewolf action might fix you right up.”

“You’re still not helping.”

“Sorry. I’ll let you get back to your writing. Remember, you said you’d think about a werewolf lover.”

“Yeah, I’ll think about it right after I think about my poetry theme. Uh, shouldn’t you and your sisters be frolicking about the graveyard checking on the dead or whatnot?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. Our little screwup actually ended up being a good thing, what with those horrid demons on the prowl; the town could use the extra protection. And anyway, it’s only temporary and the dead have already quieted down. Uh, but since you mentioned it…are you planning on going jogging today?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think you could take a spin through the graveyard and keep your eyes open for my broom? I must have forgotten it in all the excitement that night, between Genevieve scampering off into the woods with Hunter—whose eyes, by the way, were glowing bright red—and my Romeo morphing from wolf to man rather unexpectedly. Anyway, if you see it would you please grab it before somebody flies off with it? You know a good broom is hard to find.”

“Yeah, sure. If I see it, I’ll get it for you. But wait, isn’t Hunter Knight supposed to be dead?” Candice said.

“Well, kinda. Actually, he’s a little undead.”

“Isn’t that like being a little pregnant?”

“Don’t be a smart-ass. It’s embarrassing enough for me to admit that my sister’s getting some vampire action. God, I wish the girl had better taste in men, alive or dead.”

Candice sighed. “Hey—don’t be such a prude. If I’d chosen one of the undead I might not be unmarried.”

“Candice, honey, I love you, but you are a hopeless piece of work. Now be a doll and go find my broom. Bye.”

Godiva hung up the phone and sat tapping her chin with one long, slender finger. Candy was getting old before her time. Goddess knew, she really did need a lover. A young lover. A young werewolf lover. A hot, naughty affair would be the perfect thing to keep her from moving to Denver. Her fingers itched to swirl up a little love spell, but magic wouldn’t work on her friend. Godiva’s eyes widened and her full, pink lips tilted up. Magic wouldn’t work on Candy, but it definitely would work on a werewolf.…

2

Candice would never get this damn assignment done.

“You’d think after teaching for almost twenty years I wouldn’t have any problem doing homework.” She grumbled at herself and ran a frustrated hand through her thick blonde hair. “Poetry themes…poetry themes…poetry themes…” Death, time, love, heartbreak, the soul, happiness, sex…“Sex,” she muttered, chewing the end of her well-sharpened #2 pencil. “That’s one I can’t write about. Like I’ve had sex in—”

She clamped her lips shut, refusing to speak aloud the ridiculous amount of time it had been since the last time she’d been laid. As if the last time even counted. Ex-husband number five
had been, in politically correct terms, penis impaired. Spoken plainly, he’d had a pathetically small dick, and an incredibly large wallet. Unfortunately, one did not make up for the other. Candice grimaced. Quite frankly, women who said size didn’t count had clearly never been with a man with a small dick. And, as if their, well, lack of substance wasn’t bad enough, SDM (small-dicked men) had the same problems short men had. They were mad at the world. Like it
helped
to make up for said unfortunate shortage by being a jerk? Sometimes men just didn’t make sense.