Page 4 of Mistletoe Wishes and Dragon Kisses

“About a….”

“Why do you continue to tempt Fate by zapping me with that snap of yours?”

“I don’t….”

“I’ll tell you why you continue to tempt Fate and zap me with that damn, blasted, Goddess-forsaken snap of yours.”

“Why don’t you…?”

"You do it because somewhere in that hard head of yours, you, Gloria Angelica Brown, think that I, Hillary K. Hippo, will forget what I have told you at least one-million-three-hundred-and-forty-six-thousand-five-hundred-and-eleven times. You think that I will not remember adamantly explaining in great detail that I will knock you upside the head, tap dance on your back and sing Zippity Doo Dah at the top of my lungs. Well, hold on, Sweetheart, ‘cause, I’mma gonna get tuned up. The gorgeous, chubby, Pygmy Hippo is about to…”

And that was as much as Glo could take. It was bad enough when the phone in her brain started ringing at three-thirty-three AM. It was worse when it continued to ring and ring and ring. It was worse still when at three-thirty-nine AM, the damn thing was still ringing, and that time it was Gustav Snowflake, one of her favorite people, make that Elf in the whole wide world.

As if that wasn’t enough, she seriously thought it couldn’t get any worse until she yelled at the sweet Elf who had never done anything but be really, really,reallygood at his job and a damn fine friend to her for a really long time, but damn it all to Hell in a dirty handcart with a bum wheel–it had gottensomuch worse.

It had gone from bad to worse, varoomed and zoomed right pastthe worst,and landed smack dab in the center of holy fuckinations bad. And holy fuckinations bad had only happenedoncebefore in all the many years of Glo’s life, and that very inauspicious occasion just happened to be the only other time in all their years together that Hillary K. Hippo had gotten the better of the Brown Witch of Peace, Protection, and Eternal Love.

“This willnotgo unanswered!” Glo roared.

With her left cheek planted so far into the evergreen shag of the throw rug Auntie Dorthea, Dot for short, Brown had made for Glo's hundredth birthday that she could only see out of her right eye–she just let it all go and went balls to the wall Witchy crazy. Her right eye, the only one she could see out of, was so full of yarn fuzzies hellbent on dancing the jig that it felt as if a thousand mosquitoes were trying to poke their way into her brain–but that did matter one tiny iota. Glo had to do something she rarely, if ever, did–she had to engage in physical exertion with the likes of Thor, the Norse God of Thunder, and his merry band of friends.

In one powerful move that would’ve impressed Mr. Universe and happened in less than the blink of an eye, she slammed the flat of her palms into the long green shag on either side of her ample breasts with such force that her whole body shook. Pointing her elbows straight up toward the ceiling as if they were springs, she summoned all the strength in her five-foot-two-inch body and more than a little of the Magic she reserved for her once-a-year jog to the coffee shop and prepared to use the muscles in her arms like they were hydraulic-powered. Inhaling deeply, something she'd been told by every trainer she'd ever fired would help with focus, she pushed her toes against the hardwood floor not covered by rugs or carpet with such fury that a pleasing pop and crack of the joint filled the air, and helped her get the leverage she needed.

Shoving with all her might, she forced all the breath from her lungs and grunted, "Oorah!” With such vim and vigor that her voice was still echoing long after she’d stopped, she was about to be airborne without a broom.

Doing the only push-up she could ever remember completing in all of her days, Glo just kept going. It was exactly how she’d imagined being shot out of a cannon would feel–and it was freaking awesome. Popping up and back, the outstandinglyunrelenting momentum created by Magic, muscle, and rage was unlike anything she could’ve imagined–and stopping proved to only be achieved with exactly eleven shuffling steps backward.

No, it wasn’t how she’d seen it in her mind, but Glo was not to be deterred, and she would not stop.

Continuing in reverse, she formulated a new plan on the fly and knew exactly where to go. Traversing her home was something she could do in her sleep. As a matter of fact, she’d done exactly that approximately ten minutes earlier when the first call came into her brain at precisely three-thirty-three AM.

Aiming for the only empty wall in the entire house, the wall where the solid oak corner comb bookcases made by her Auntie Druantia, Dru for short, the Brown Witch of Trees and Plants, named after the Celtic Goddess of the same designation, was handcrafting, she poured on the speed. As luck would have it, that was the exact moment that Hilly realized what was about to happen and started squealing at no less than one-hundred-and-fifteen decibels while spitting out words at a speed only Glo's Witchy ears could comprehend.

“Put me down! Put me down! Put me downrightthis minute! Don’t make this worse than it already is! Put me down, Gloria Angelica Brown, or I swear to the Great Goddess of All that I will… OOOMMMPPPHHH!!”

Smiling so wide her cheeks actually ached almost as bad as her shoulders hurt where the sharp, pointed tips of Hillary's hooves/fingernails had most assuredly slashed through the cotton of her favorite Grinch T-shirt and were ripping her tender, freckled shoulders to pieces, Glo just kept pushing. Wheezing and clawing, Hillary got the equally long, sharp, and pointed tips of the hooves on her back feet involved, and that only pissed off Glo all the more.

With those impenetrable nails digging into the pleasing plump cheeks of her well-rounded ass, the Brown Witch ofPeace, Protection, and Eternal Love got so mad, so angry, and just so plain pissed off that for the first time in her very long life she saw red. Reaching over her head with her left hand, she latched onto the top of Hillary's right arm and dug her fingers into the Pygmy Hippo's armpit. Using that iron grip as leverage, she jerked with the might of one supremely furious Brown Witch until her feverously flummoxed Familiar was hanging by one arm in front of her face.

Opening her mouth to give Hillary K. Hippo a piece of her mind, two things happened at exactly the same moment:

Shrieking with a fair amount of horror and what she was sure was more than a smidgen of awe, Gustav squealed, "Glo, are you alive! Should I call 321? Do you need the Witch Warden? Isn't that your Auntie or another Brown Witch? What about the Water Dragon Fire Service? I can call 125, but I don't think Santa is available! Tell me what to do!”

And, not to be outdone…

The perfectly painted red door at the front of her home swung open and in came all the happiness and joy of her best friend in all the whole world, Em Aithnea MacIvor, and the Fey Dragon’s boyfriend, Tech Genius extraordinaire, Nostradamus. In her usual sunshine, daffodils, and lovely way, Em sing-songed, “Helllooooo, my beautiful people! Never fear! We are here to save the day! Noss and I have created…. Oh, wow!” Stopping to chuckle, the sound filled with so much delight and joyfulness that Glo almost–just almost–snickered along, Em added with a cheerygiggle, “Well, hell, Noss, looks like we’re just in time to save Hilly’s life.”

Setting her backpack, huge tote bag, and what, from the corner of Glo's eye, looked like a small whiteboard, the five-foot-five-inch tall, curvy woman with chestnut curls that brushed her shoulders and hazel eyes that always sparkled with laughter and mischief, closed the distance from the foyer to where the Brown Witch was just about to throttle her Familiar in one, single second. Carefully loosening Glo's grip on Hill's upper arm and armpit, she handed the Pygmy Hippo to her boyfriend before turning back to Glo and winking. “Okay, so I’m guessin’ you already know that Mistletoe plants all over the world are suddenly dying.” Holding up two fingers, she continued, “That Hillary K. Hippo is not being much help, and…” She added her ring finger to the mix. “…Gustav was not the first person to call you at this unGodessly hour of the morning to inform you, as I mentioned before, Mistletoe all over the planet is dying."

Folding all her digits but the index finger, Em continued without missing a beat. "Like dying with a capital D. No rhyme. No reason. No cause in sight. One minute, they are beautifully green with white flowers and berries, and the next, they are dried up, brown, crumbly, and in some cases blowin' in the wind, and Bob Dylan wasn't singin' a word."

---