1
Friends are like bras: close to your heart, there for support, and when you least expect it, they poke you in the boob.
“Well, hello, Beautiful. Get on in here. You sure are a sight for sore eyes.”
“Well, shit, Martha. I need to come see you more often.” Zelda's grin was so bright that it made the entrance of Marvelous Martha’s Brew House & Bougie Bags sparkle. She did a twirl, her skirt fanning around her, then added, “You sure know how to make a girl feel beautiful.”
“Because you are, Girl.” Then, I made a show of rolling my eyes before tsking and shaking my head. “And you know it. You just like hearin’ it.”
“You know I do.”
“Because you are, Girl.” I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “And you like hearin’ it.”
“Yeah, that’s me, alright.”
“Ha! I just love you. Now, get over here and give me a hug,” I chuckled, complete with a snorted giggle. “It’s been a month of Sundays since I’ve seen you, and that means I am in serious need of some Zelda love.”
Her shoulders bounced as I gave her a little extra squeeze, then I loosened my very southern hug and took a step back. “Seriously, though, I need to know your secret. You look younger every time I see you. I bet it’s…” I wagged my eyebrows up and down at Zelda, teasing, “And just like that, we’re on the topic of Mac. He’s all that and a sexy butt, too, isn’t he? Makes you howl at the moon, doesn’t he? It’s all the bow-chica-wowwow that keeps your cheeks rosy, isn’t it? Yeah, that’s it.” I winked, then turned my hands over and did a give-me-give-me motion with my fingers while stepping aside so Zelda could walk through the doorway into my shop. Leaning in, I pushed the door closed and conspiratorially whispered, “Come on, now. Don’t leave me hangin’. You know my love life lives vicariously through you.”
“You mean to tell me that your very mated and extremely pregnant sister doesn’t regale you with a sordid tale every now and then? I mean, the newly Mated can hardly ever keep their mouths shut. They just love sharing all the sexy details and tellin’ anybody and everybody how blissfully happy they are.”
“First of all…” Pinching my perfectly pert nose with the tips of my thumb and index finger while the rest of my digits stood at disgusted attention, I squished up the rest of my face as tight as possible and added, “Ewwwwww.”
Dropping my hands, I clapped once—so loudly my boys jumped up from their beds and started barking in alarm, looking for the disaster they were sure had befallen us. I shook my head at them to signal there was no threat, then quickly pulled treats from the pocket of my apron and handed one to each dog.
When the boys were happily munching on their homemade, organic peanut butter bars, I turned my attention back to my buddy and huffed, “Secondly, Zelda, my friend, you know I am a visual thinker. And for the love of all that’s southern and wonderful, Maisie is my youngest sister. I changed her diaper. I was there when she took her first step. I…”
“You taught her how to properly French kiss using my favorite makeup mirror and that crazy one-eyed Dragon pillow that was always on your bed.”
“No. No. No. That was different. That was my job as her big sister. Getting graphic details of her sex life is… Just the thought of it… The mention of… The horrible yuckiness of how my soon-to-be-born nieces came to be makes my stomach do somersaults, my eyes melt, and my very special, seriously underused Quad-Shot Macchiato—heretofore called Hot Stuff—lose all its steam and go on strike. How could you…?”
“How could you name your lady parts your Quad-Shot Macchiato!” Zelda exclaimed, narrowing her eyes and shaking her index finger just over two millimeters from the tip of my nose. “And I repeat, go on to add further insult to injury by suggesting that region of your gorgeously curvy bod be called, Hot Stuff. That is… Well, it’s just… I mean….”
“What you’re trying to say is that it’s so much better than calling my ‘lady parts’ Little Red Riding Hood– which is what you call yours. Little Red Riding Hood? Puhlease… I mean, other than the fact that Mac is indeed a very sexy Wolf… It makes no sense.”
“And referring to your hoo-ha as something people order right here in this very shop; your shop isn’t absolutely nucking futs? Martha, you are…”
“I am brilliant. Moreover, I am right, because my hoo-ha is strong, sweet, and layered with history! She is…"
And that was as far as I got before Zelda, the next Witch in line to be the Baba Yaga—a title bestowed upon the one and only Witch strong enough and wise enough to lead all the other Witches—burst out laughing. Check that—cackling. She was guffawing with such gusto that tears were already forming in her emerald eyes.
Of course, I joined in. How could I not? After all, it had been the best meet-up-with-one-of-my-bestest-friends-in-the-whole-world sparring match smackdown in decades. (Hey! We all love in different ways. Don’t judge us. We have fun, and baby, that is one of the spices of life. Maybe the most important one.)
It was something Zelda and I had been doing since the first time she showed up in Dragoon Bootay, Texas (I promise to explain the name later). There she was, bold as bold could be, announcing that she had come to give the Magic protecting our town from prying eyes a kick in the keister, a boost in the bustier, a fire under the derriere –an abracadabra, alakazam, shazam, and sim sala bim in the Spell, so to speak.
Before that, the honor or duty or chore…
(I never knew what she thought of it because we rarely conversed. It was more of a she bitched about her boyfriend, Fabio, and I listened, nodded, and said, “Mhm,” at the appropriate times.)
So I truly had no clue what Carol thought of keeping the only three living Dragon Queens in the world –Maeve, Maisie, and me –hidden for those who wanted our heads on a pike, our scales made into necklaces they could wear around their necks as trophies, and our wings hanging over the entrance of whatever hole in the ground they called home. I knew she appreciated that there were three hundred and thirty-two other people – all Magical Beings – who called Dragoon Bootay home. She said that everyone in the Paranormal Community gave off residual Magic, and that made keeping the handy-dandy Magical Spell that made our little slice of Heaven look like a barren wasteland in the middle of the Chihuahuan Desert to anyone non-Magical easier to maintain.
As the story I was told pretty much every day of my life until my parents went to the Heavens with the Ancestors goes, when dear old dad and sweet Momma June got hitched, my mother, aka Momma June in case you weren’t keeping up, had a dream on their Mating Night in which she was told by none other Fate that she and Pops, aka Hank Dellencourt would have three wonderful daughters –all of which would be the very Dragon Queens the rest of the Magical World, and I guess all the other Realms too) thought were gone never to return. When mom woke, she padded to the kitchen in her favorite fluffy slippers only to find Fate –in the flesh, not in a dream –in the middle of that very room.
Six feet tall with a set of breasts that made the Angels –and later, Hugh Hefner –weep, the most beautiful woman Momma June had ever laid eyes on was standing with her hip cocked against the kitchen counter, drinking coffee out of daddy’s favorite mug. Wearing army fatigues and combat boots that made her look like a Drill Sergeant Bratz Doll, Momma never forgot to mention that Fate’s attire didn’t match her femininity one iota. I believe the saying she used was, ‘it was polar opposites, like sending a snowman to Hell for a tall glass of sweet tea’. Momma June always did have a way with words.
Oh, and the strange but stunning hits didn’t stop there. Framing the Omnipotent Being’s gorgeous face was the thickest, shiniest mane of curly rainbow colored hair ever thought into existence by The Powers That Be, her ebony skin was as dark as night with the splendor and mystery that make it so special and her eyes were the sparkling silver of the stars in that night sky, twinkling as if to say, “Oh, if you only knew what I was thinking…”. She was unlike any other being Momma June had ever laid eyes on —and at that point in time, my wonderful mother, God bless her heart, was four hundred and forty-four years old and had been around the world more times and visited more spectacular places than even she could recall.
Before the new and reigning matriarch of the Dellencourt Clan could so much as nod, Fate set her mug on the counter, stood up straight, and closed the distance between them in less than the blink of an eye. Stopping far enough away that my mother wouldn’t have to crane her neck from her five-foot-nothing eight but close enough that not only her words, but their gravity could be heard, felt, and understood, she explained, “The dream you had last night was the truth, and that’s why I’m here. I need to be sure you understand. Your Mating with Hank is blessed by the Goddess and the Universe. Together, you will have three daughters. They will all be of Royal blood. They will be...”
