Page 8 of Minions and Magic
Hmmm. What should I bring to family dinner? Cassie was always in charge of the main dish, which meant there was a comforting predictability about what we ate. Baked ziti. Meatloaf. Stew. Pot roast. Fried pork chops. Roast chicken. Spaghetti with meat sauce. Enchiladas. Every now and then my eldest sister would branch out and make something that we hadn’t had every week growing up. Those were the Sundays where we usually ended up calling for pizza delivery. Just as I was the only one who’d been gifted with the magic of healing, I was the only one in our family who seemed to be able to cook.
There was no way Cassie would be awake this early, so I sent a quick text to Bronwyn, asking her if she knew what the plans were for a main dish tonight. Then I slipped a few sticky notes in to mark recipes that I thought I’d like to prepare—a white bean and prosciutto side dish that would be a good accompaniment for a variety of meals, and two cornbread recipes. One cornbread was sweet and moist, and the other was spicy with bits of minced jalapeño.
Setting my recipe book aside, I refreshed my coffee from the carafe, and grinned as I heard Brian Holter across the street fire up his abnormally loud lawn mower. No amount of complaining from neighbors made a difference in the routine of one of the few humans that lived in Accident. Every Sunday, Brian mowed, trimmed, edged, blew leaves or snow all at an ungodly hour of the morning. I never minded since I was awake anyway, but others were incensed by the loud noise just as the sun was coming up on a weekend.
Sylvie, my therapist sister, claimed it was Brian’s way of asserting himself as a human surrounded by stronger, faster, and magically powerful supernatural beings. Personally, I think he did it because he was a jerk.
Bronwyn texted back that last she’d heard we were having pot roast, so I decided on sweet cornbread and headed inside, grabbing my carafe of coffee. Closing the door didn’t completely block out the mowing noise from across the street, but I lost myself in cooking, not even noticing the sound after a few minutes.
Putting the cornbread in the oven, I got dressed and puttered around my house for the rest of the morning, oddly uneasy. My home had always been a sanctuary. I’d never minded my rather solitary lifestyle, immersing myself in cooking and finding great joy in both the magic of my healing smoothies and creating food, but today I felt strangely empty.
For once, I didn’t just want to hang around my house until it was time to head to Cassie’s, so instead I grabbed a few things from my fridge and headed to the hospital.
I was thrilled to see Stanley dressed and being helped into a wheelchair by a dryad nurse. He was pale and a little wobbly, but looked so much better than he had just twelve hours earlier. I handed him a box of honey pecan cookies and a to-go cup of my healing smoothie then asked how he was feeling.
“Better.” He sniffed at the smoothie and grimaced.
“Drink it,” I ordered. “I want you at work tomorrow like nothing happened.Andat the barbeque on Saturday.”
He sighed, flipping the lid and downing the potion with a shudder. When he was done, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and handed the cup back to me. “Not sure I want to come Saturday, especially after what happened last night. Thinking I won’t be welcome. Thinking I might end up dead.”
I bristled at the thought. “Not on our watch. Cassie will be there. All of us will be there. We’ll make sure you’re safe—both you and Shelby. I’m asking you as a friend, Stanley. I’d like you to at least make a brief appearance. Exchange a few words with the non-werewolves, as well as with Clinton and Dallas, then eat something and leave if you want. It’s important, not only to you and Shelby, but to anyone else who might end up being a lone wolf in Accident.”
He opened the container of cookies and popped one in his mouth. “Okay, Glenda. But only because I trust you and your sisters to keep me safe.”
The nurse smiled at me and I took over, guiding the wheelchair through the hallways. “You need a lift, Stanley? Who’s taking you home?”
“Bart.”
The one word sent a flood of emotion through me. Stanley and Bart had been best friends before Stanley’s exile, and I knew they’d been meeting clandestinely to chat and go on a few fishing expeditions. This was big, though. Bart had always been nervous about being seen with Stanley after his exile. That he’d roll up to the hospital and give his friend a ride home, meant that the other werewolf had finally realized their friendship was more important than what anyone in his pack might say if they were seen together.
Of course, it helped that Dallas and Clinton had both agreed that lone wolves did not have to be shunned as part of their recent peace treaty, but this was still incredibly brave on Bart’s behalf.
“You said last night that someone kicked the jack out from under your car,” I mentioned once we were alone in the elevator.
Stanley nodded. “I made a statement to Sheriff Oakes. I’m not surprised, honestly. Been getting subtle threats at work and around town. Even had notes stuck on my car or in my door at home telling me to get out of town.”
“Does Cassie know about this?” My voice trembled with anger at the thought that Stanley was being harassed, that he’d been attacked—all while under our protection.
“It’s an ongoing thing,” the werewolf waved a hand in the air. “No sense in bothering your sister about vague threats.”
“It’s not vague threats anymore, Stanley.”
He nodded. “I know. But I’m not sure what anyone can do about it, even you Perkins witches. I’ll show up at the barbeque because you asked, but after that, I’m gonna keep my head down and hope whoever dropped my car on me leaves me alone.”
This had to stop. If someone was disregarding our town’s laws as well as the werewolf alphas’ peace treaty, then that someone needed to be brought to justice. As much faith as I had in Sheriff Oakes to get things done, the barbeque was Saturday. That event needed to go off smoothly, to set the tone for what the future held for both the werewolf packs as well as the other beings who lived within the wards of Accident. Our sheriff was a dryad, but even a dryad and head of our law enforcement community would welcome help from seven witches.
I wheeled Stanley through the lobby where a middle-aged male werewolf fidgeted. There was an old model Ford pick-up idling just outside the hospital doors.
“Bart.” Stanley smiled at the other werewolf. “Thanks for giving me a lift. Sheriff Oakes said I won’t get my car back for another day or two.”
“Hope they put a new tire on it before they drop it off,” Bart drawled. He looked up at me and nodded in recognition. “You gonna catch the guy that did this? Don’t like anyone messing with my friend here.”
“We will.” I passed the wheelchair off to Bart and watched as the two werewolves headed through the hospital doors. Bart helped Stanley get settled in the truck, then came back in to return the wheelchair.
“Gonna stay with him a bit, just to keep an eye on him. Make sure he’s doin’ okay. Make sure he gets some food in him beyond this hospital stuff.” Bart fixed me with a steady gaze. “It’s what friends do. Don’t care what others in the pack might say. Don’t care if it makes me a target too. It’s what friends do.”
I watched him go back through the doors, climb into the driver’s side of the truck, and head down the road. He was right. And for the first time in my adult life, I wished I had a friend like that, wished I had someone making sure I was doing okay, wished I had someone to come home to.
