Page 1 of Magic Pussy

The Trap

Grandma Iris was a lot more annoying now that she was dead.

Rain remembered a sweet old toothless lady who made out-of-this-world gumbo and beignets so good she licked her lips just thinking about them. Last year, Iris had died in her sleep at the ripe old age of ninety-seven—a first in their family. It had been a long time since a White had seen past the forty-year-old mark. One of the many reasons why Rain now went by her father’s name and avoided Nola like her life depended on it.

It did.

She'd shown her face at the funeral. Iris deserved it. Rain had even stayed for the ceremony that had followed, but when her name had been called, and she'd been asked to step forward to drop a little blood at the altar, she'd shaken her head. No one had been surprised. Disappointed? Certainly. Not surprised. They knew she wasn't part of their coven anymore.

The funeral was supposed to mark the end of an era. Now, she truly had no reason to step foot in Louisiana again. She wasn’t close to her older sister, and her little sister was more than happy to hop on a plane and spend some time with her somewhere else—anywhere else.

Rain was supposed to be free.

Iris had other ideas.

“Your mama would be ashamed to see you wasting your skills like this, young lady,” said her dead grandma.

Rain couldn't see her, but she could feel her energy behind her. Iris was probably holding a hand on her hip and glaring at the back of her head while Rain mixed a batch of fresh hangover cure in her kitchen.

It was Sunday morning. She’d sell a dozen of those within an hour tops as soon as she opened her shop, the Practical Witch.

“My mama took part in ceremonial orgies and thought that the full moon was a reason to get high. I don’t exactly aspire to emulate her, you know,” she replied, rolling her eyes and moving to the stove to check on her custom order.

She grimaced, watching the thick green potion bubble happily. By all the gods, it stunk.

Surprisingly, or not, most of her clients came to her about STD issues. Her cures were efficient, if not pleasant.

“You should be at home, helping your sister manage the seventy-three clans, not here serving regular mortals. Let them go to the doctor for their warts.”

“And you should be in the outerworld, with the rest of the spirits, yet here we are.”

A very faint knock came from the closest window and Rain stiffened as her head snapped left. Behind the glass, there was a very beautiful raven, batting its elegant wings to stay level.

She glared.

“Do you have anything to do with this?” she asked out loud.

There was no response. Iris had a knack for butting in when her opinion wasn’t wanted and disappearing when Rain had something to say to her. Damn ghost. In her long life, surely the old woman had met witches who were worthier of being hunted down than her boring, STD-potion-making ass.

Rain washed her hands and dried them, slowly and meticulously, delaying the inevitable.

She knew who this message had come from. And she knew that if she ignored it, next time, it would come in a less pleasant fashion.

Finally, she walked around her small breakfast bar and opened the window. The bird remained in front of it, confirming Rain’s suspicions.

“Come on in, then.”

It flew in, soaring to the floor. A dark, misty smoke suddenly clogged the air, and a noise like no other came from the poor animal: half cry, half growl, as its bones cracked and changed.

Within a minute, there was an annoyingly gorgeous, very naked, extremely unwelcome man in front of her.

"What on Earth are you doing in my place, and in daylight, you idiot?" she yelled, throwing a kitchen towel at him in the hope that he'd use it to cover his damn dick.

She knew better. Charles wasn’t one to hide his dick if he could help it. He ignored the towel.

“Is that how you greet an old friend, Rain darling?”

“Friend?” she repeated, dumbfounded.

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