Fur Magic Boxed Set: Talisman, Sage, Fawn, Lola: Paranormal Romantic Comedy (19 page)

Chapter 15

The underground tunnel that led to Dagda’s house was reminiscent of the forest that Hansel and Gretel had walked to get to that candy-festooned death trap at the end. In other words, it was a damn gauntlet of twining thorns and strange eyes watching from the dark.

I thought she lived in the desert. I picked over a puddle in the overgrown sewer pipe. No one said anything about shit puddles. I did not sign up for excrement.

Tell that to your litter box
. The owl was in a bad mood because he couldn’t fly through the small space. Instead, he waddled along beside me, through the muck with his bright yellow eyes scanning the foliage.

The closer we got to the ‘candy house’ the more thorns and weeds popped through the cracks in the concrete walls. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that the flora was magical. Although, rocket scientists probably didn’t believe in magic.

How did you find her
? I asked, quietly glad it was just us two in the tunnel. Lola had been terrified and exhausted after our encounter in the woods, so we’d taken her home first before we stopped at the sewer from hell.

I followed my beak. I noticed that someone’s been placing roses on Papa Delacroix’s grave, almost identical to the kind that Penelope grows. I thought it might’ve been a sign, a clue. So I staked it out.

You hung around in a graveyard at night?
I sniffed.
You’ve got bigger avian balls than I give you credit for
.

Not all of us are superstitious. Otherwise how would I be friends with you, a black cat?

Sage waddled along, dignified in his disgrace trudge through the muck.

Friends? Aw, I’m touched. You might be hardened owl feathers and poop on the outside, but inside you’re a big, squishy…

Save it. We’re getting close.

Sage lowered his hoots a few decibels, and glanced at the pairs of eyes which had been following us since we entered the tunnel. Probably rats, God, please let them be rats and nothing worse.

I conjured up the image of mini-Damien Chokecherry’s dashing through the poo to get to us and had to shake the thought free from my mind.

So, you saw her?

Yes, I saw her. An old wisp of a woman, ancient but steeped in power. She puts the roses down and comes back here.

You’ve been through the tunnel?

Cynicism creeping into my tone. It was doubtful that Sage would debase himself to this kind of extracurricular activity more than once.

No, but there’s no doubt it leads to Dagda Cerridwyn.

The watching eyes flickered and disappeared at the mention of her name.

That’s not creepy at all. I looked around the dark forest again.

We reached the end of the tunnel and met with a circular wooden door. I bumped it with my head and it creaked open to display the room beyond.

A fire crackled against one wall, bright violet flames licked at the grate and on the opposite end sat a worn table stacked with a pestle and mortar and various potions and pills. A rocking chair and table stood off to one side, and there was another door, bigger and ornate, carved with curling decorations in the far corner.

The interior looked like ye old alchemist’s hot spot.

“Who dares enter my abode?” A woman’s voice wailed over the table, lifting papers and flicking pages on massive tomes, then rattling out of the hole a few feet above where we stood.

Uh, with all due respect, we haven’t entered your abode yet
. I quipped unable to resist. It wasn’t like she’d be able to understand me anyway. She was a witch, not a magician. Oh wait… that didn’t make sense.

“Ah, a smart aleck feline, eh?” The woman said. “You’d better hurry up and get inside my abode so I can repeat myself.”

Sage and I shared wide-eyed looks. This witch had to be powerful, indeed, if she could understand us.

“Well?” The witch asked, still invisible to our eyes. “Are you going to come inside or stand there staring at each other all night. Don’t tell me you walked through a dirty sewer pipe infested with Worgsnarts just to look at my living room. Although, it is divine. Kind of like the lady who inhabits it.”

We stepped over the threshold as one, shuffling forward and searching the corners of the room for our mystery host. The door slammed shut behind us with an ominous clang.

“Who dares enter my abode?” The witch repeated, true to her word.

I’m Talisman, and the bag of feathers and sarcasm is Sage
. I padded forward.
We’re looking for Dagda Cerridwyn. We’ve been told she can help us
.

“Who told you that?” the voice asked.

Uh, he told me
. I said, jerking my head toward Sage.

“And who told him?”

Look we could go on like this all night. My mistress, Penelope Delacroix, she’s in trouble. The Chokecherry’s are out to get her and if I don’t figure…”

Dagda Cerridywn appeared with a whistling pop. She was frail as a wispy broom, with three bald patches and a wart on her chin, but other than that she looked like any old woman. Rheumy eyes, a bad back, even a wooden cane to match her persona. The only thing missing was a broom, a cauldron and a black…

Cat.

Seriously, if you have to look up the definition of witch in the dictionary, this would be the picture you found: Dagda Cerridywn, Class of 1708.

“The Chokecherry’s, you say?”

That’s correct.

“Lucinda Chokecherry was such a teacher’s pet. Bloody hedge witch. If I ever get my gnarled fingers on her, I’ll…” She cut off and met my gaze, then studied Sage in turn. “No matter. I’m glad you came to me. I owe a great debt to the Delacroix family. I’m here today thanks to Penelope’s grandfather.”

Then you’ll help us?

Sage hooted, fluttering his feathers and working his feet to get off the excrement he’d picked up in the tunnel.

“Yes. Yes, I think I will. But it depends on what you need. If you’ve come asking for my invisibility spell, you’re out of luck. I don’t share that with anybody.”

Shit
. I said, then jammed my jaws shut.
Sorry, I mean, dangflabbit
. Didn’t want to offend the old bird’s fragile sensibilities.

Then how can you help us?
Sage asked the woman.

Dagda Cerridwyn paced back and forth in front of her violet fire, tapping her chin with a thumb which looked kind of like a stunted carrot. “Hmm… I have no idea.”

Fantastic. I’m so super glad we walked through that tunnel of poop and eyes to get here
. Sage rapped me on the head with his beak.

“Calm down, my furry little friend. I don’t know how to help you yet. But I know somebody who will know exactly what to do.”

Good, because we’re on a tight schedule. Chokecherry mentioned killing Penelope in the next few days, you know how it is with these evil witches and warlocks.

I kept my tone casual, but I was a whorl of terror inside being sucked through my own stomach by the fear of losing my dearest mistress. I’d do anything to save her.

“Yes, I’ll get him right now.” The witch turned and shuffled to her table, cane clunked on the floor and stopped to grab a handful of powder from a glass jar. Then she shuffled to the violet flames, pausing to scratch her butt, and chucked it in.

The flames flashed bright red and a figure rose within them and stepped out. A figure I’d never thought I’d see again in all my lives.

Papa Delacroix straightened, stretching his ancient arms and scratching at the handsome beard he’d worn until the day he died.

“Yes, Dagda, what is it this time?”

***

LOLA

Fur Magic – Book 4

By

Colleen Charles

Chapter 1

Papa DeLacroix, Pen’s beloved grandfather, was translucent as he emerged from the purple flames, but that razor sharp gaze hadn’t altered a whit since the day he’d died, so many years ago. Funny, I’d thought death tended to dull the intelligence, deaden the brain and all that jazz.

Do you have to be snarky about everything, Tali?
Sage nudged me with the tip of his wing. Talk about razor sharp.

Look who’s talking. Then again, you’re more larky than snarky. Now shut up, I’m trying to concentrate here.

Sage huffed a breath through his beak and clicked it a couple times. Damn owl always had to have the last word, even if those words weren’t articulated with vocal chords.

The witch, Dagda Cerridwyn, grasped her cane tightly in one hand and ground the sharp end – sharp enough to skewer a mouse  – into the wooden baseboards. The thought made me drool. Yummy.

“I only ever summon you for a good reason, DeLacroix.”

“That’s what you said about the chicken!” Papa snapped, stroking his beard.

“I couldn’t get the stuffing right,” Dagda mumbled, giving the two animals the side-eye.

Cooking a bird? Really?
Sage ruffled his feathers.

Sounds delicious.
I shot back, accompanying it with a lick of my furry lips. Sage nudged me for the second time in two minutes.

Papa DeLacroix narrowed his eyes and followed Dagda’s gaze. His eyebrows wriggled and jumped up his forehead at the sight of us sitting there. “Talisman? Is that you?”

One and the same
, I replied, because the old guy had always been able to talk to me. One of Papa’s many gifts and yet another reason the other witches had truly resented him. Animal telepathy was still an animal thing, though. Man, if he’d heard half the bitter catnip-induced thoughts I’d had about him…

“Who’s the bird?” Papa asked, stomping over to us. He wasn’t an overly affectionate old dude, but he did stroke my tail with one finger. His signature move. It was sweet, apart from the fact that his touch was pretty much like being dropped into a bucket of ice.

He was the undead, after all.

This is Sage. He’s an owl.

Really? That’s the best you can do?
Sage rolled his massive yellow eyes.
Pleased to meet you, sir.

“Hmmm, yes, yes. Good to make your acquaintance,” Papa said, then flicked Sage gently on the beak in an animal version of a handshake. “But what are you two doing here?”

That was Papa, always to the point. Where Penelope was afraid to offend, Papa didn’t give two massive white birdie turds about what people thought. Freedom of speech. That or he was just grumpy as hell from being summoned out of the dirt nap.

“And you,” Papa said, turning back to Dagda before I could answer him. “You need to stop with your witching around. You’re disturbing my afterlife with your useless queries.”

“This one’s not useless,” Dagda replied, gesturing to me again. She mumbled something which sounded decidedly like ‘stuffing’, then traipsed over to an armchair and lowered herself into it. She propped her cane against the side and folded her hands in her lap.

Intimidating guy.
Sage glanced at me sideways.

Always has been, but his heart’s in the right place. Papa’s the one who gave me this damn amulet to start with.
I scratched beneath the leather and the jade jingled. 

“Ah,” Papa said, pointing at the amulet in question, “I’m glad you still have that. I gave it to you so you’d be able to look after our family.” His pearlescent forehead wrinkled. He flopped his transparent flannel shirt with his ghostly hands. “But you’re here. Which means there’s trouble. What’s going on, feline? Spit it out?”

Penelope’s in grave danger
, I replied, and instantly regretted it.

You don’t say
, Sage and Papa thought, in unison, then blinked at each other.

That’s awkward…

Oh, Sage, I believe you’ve met your soul mate. Right down to the sarcastic wit peppered with Medicare.

Sage puffed himself up in indignation.
Impossible, he doesn’t have feathers. And he’s a ghost. And male. I’m only twenty and he’s a hundred and twenty.

Keep talking yourself into that hole, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal.
I gave my best kitty grin, and dodged Sage’s wing nudge this time by arching my limber back.

Look, here’s the deal
, I said, once I’d plonked my gorgeous, black behind on the boards once again,
Chokecherry is up to something diabolical. She’s been siphoning off Pen’s powers for years now and it’s finally caught up to all of us.

“Hmm … yes,” Papa replied, patting his chin with two fingers. Pat, pat, pat. All pat and no strategy, made me a dull cat.

So what do we do?
Sage put in.

“Have you heard the story of Rosamund DeLacroix? Of Arwen Silverchime?”

Snatches of it. I’m pretty old, I forget stuff.
I might’ve been old, but I didn’t look a day over nine. In cat years of course. The prime of my nine lives.

“Sanguine Chokecherry was Lucinda’s Grandma. Evil woman, horrible. The whole family’s a rash of poison ivy on my ass,” Papa said, then shook his head. “She killed Arwen Silverchime in the ritual that cursed Rosamund.” Papa clenched his fists and wriggled them back and forth at his sides.

He’s having a heart attack!
Sage shuffled forward a step.

I walked in front of the bird to cut him off.
Relax, he’s just angry. And he’s a ghost, remember? It’s not like he can die twice. I think. You never know with the DeLacroix’s.

“My wife,” Papa whispered.

Dagda creaked forward and hissed. “You don’t need to tell them that.”

Your wife? How’s that possible? Rosamund lived ages ago, in the sixteen hundreds or something crazy.
My jaw dropped open and I caught a whiff of my own fishy breath. My, my, I had to cut back on the late night tuna binges

“I was at least two thousand years old when I died, Tali. Let’s just say I had the gift of longevity that Lucinda longs for, the spoiled brat.” Papa wiggled his nose this time. “Sanguine cursed  the DeLacroix’s, ensuring that each female child would be connected to one of her own. Slowly sucking out the power from each DeLacroix until the well ran dry. But Lucinda, she’s blown it out of proportion. She’s siphoned too quickly and it’ll kill Pen if it’s not stopped.”

How does Arwen factor into this?
Sage asked. Asking those owlishly intelligent questions.
Jealous much?

Silence, feather balls. If you have any.

“Sanguine kidnapped Arwen to sacrifice her in the curse. Arwen was best friends with my dearest Rosamund, and Sanguine couldn’t stand their powerful alliance. So she poisoned Arwen after forcing her to drink some horrible brew that put her to sleep. But that wasn’t enough to destroy her.” Papa sighed and rubbed his temples as if the unwelcome trip down memory lane was causing a massive migraine. “Then of course, you know the rest of the story with the final sacrifice. A butcher knife to the heart during that spell circle in the woods.”

“She then moved into Arwen’s family home. That’s where the Chokecherry thieves live to this day.”

Shit. Big cat shits in a full litter box. This is not good.
I paced back and forth, sweeping my tail through the air in pure agitation.

“What is it?” Dagda croaked, and we all shot her a look. She settled back, pursed her lips and folded her arms. A true witch sulk.

Penelope’s best friend, Amelia, has just been kidnapped, I explained, that’s why we came to find help. We need a way into the Chokecherry mansion to get her back.

“Hmm … that’s horrible news,” Papa said, shimmering ghost eyes widening at the revelation. “It appears that Lucinda is trying to reinitiate the ritual. Perhaps to strengthen or continue the curse.”

But it’s Bianca who’s doing it all.
Sage tilted his feathered head from side-to-side.

“You can bet your cloaca Lucinda’s behind it all,” Papa replied. “I wonder what spurred it on.”

It’s Pen
, I said, suddenly.
She’s met her true love, but she hasn’t kissed him yet.

“Yes, that would drive the evil bitch to strengthen the spell,” Papa replied. “I see, aha, I see.”

Sage sighed through his beak and clicked it.
This is taking too long. She could’ve sacrificed Amelia by now.

Cool it. Papa DeLacroix always has a plan.

“I have a plan,” Papa said, on cue. “But you’re going to need help from another cat, someone smaller. Maybe a female.”

Sage and I shared a look.

“I have a map to the Silverchime mansion,” Papa said, and clicked his fingers at Dagda. She leapt out of her chair – well, as much as any old, half-crippled witch can leap – and hobbled to her bookshelf to find the map.

“The map,” Papa continued, “details a small entrance at the back that is unguarded by the Chokecherry’s wards. Call it a rift if you will. You get through that and you’ll have a way to find and save Amelia.”

Sage bobbled to the shelf and accepted the map from Dagda’s wrinkled fingers, poking his sharp talons into the thin paper.

“And now, my job is done,” Papa said, waving at the animals, then pointing to Dagda. “Don’t you dare summon me for corn cobs or stuffing or any other recipe, woman.”

Dagda mumbled again and sniffed.

“Farewell, Sage and Talisman. May you find great success. And hopefully a
peaceful
after life, one day,” he said, then turned and strode back into the flames. There was a poof and they became violet again. “Until we meet again.”

Silence reigned in the tiny room, except for the creak of Dagda’s bones and the crackle of those flames in the grate.

I don’t like this.
I sent to Sage, my mouthful of righteous indignation. It was dry as dust and had sapped the moisture from my tongue. Blegh.

There’s only one cat we know who’s up to the task.

I blew air through my cute pink nostrils.

That’s why I don’t like it.