Some Were In Time (33 page)

Speaking of JHC, aka Jesus Hesus Christ, we made the urban dictionary and the national news. Of course, the credit went to the churchgoers who claimed Jesus came to them through their TV sets during an episode of
The Voice
and told them the Lord's middle name was Hesus.

Going viral was all kinds of credibility ruining awesomeness. Dwayne has been canvasing everyone as to what the next new
thing
should be. We haven't decided yet, but
Moses Bilbo Waterparter
is edging to the forefront.

The Cows are now living with the Vamps, much to Daddy Dwayne's agony over the situation. My BFF threw a fit so large it caused a mini tornado. Thankfully nothing and no one was harmed except for Dwayne's collection of Dolly Parton wigs. He repeatedly threatens to dismember and chop to pieces any Vamp who makes his girls unhappy. He’s quite specific about chopping them up and then putting the pieces all over several continents so it would take centuries to regenerate.

His detailed threat left most of us at a loss for words. However, Granny thought it was hilarious. Vamp humor… go figure.

Dima is the one I worried about most when the dust settled. With her father still alive she's gone into hiding with her son, Daniel. Dwayne is the proud owner of approximately three hundred homes around the world and gave Dima the keys to all of them. She has nine months and we have been working closely with her. If she finds a mate, we won’t have to off her dad immediately. The main problem she has is most male Dragons are terrified to show interest in her due to her father's penchant for killing them. However, she did keep mentioning a guy named Seth. Interesting.

Junior was on a mission to get Sandy, and his love campaign was going to hell in a hand basket fast. Against the advice of Dima and myself, he'd used the word boff in reference to Sandy four times. She'd of course caught wind of it since you couldn't sneeze in Hung, Georgia without everyone knowing. Sandy has been ignoring Junior for several weeks. He’s been depressed and more determined than ever to get his girl. God help us all… especially Sandy.

"Do you think if I asked nicely Dwayne would pick out the invitations, the flowers and the cake for the wedding?" I asked Hank as I sat curled up on the couch in our perfect little bungalow in Hung, Georgia.

"I don't think you even have to be nice about it," Hank said, making a fine point.

All the Cows had insisted on eloping with their Vamps which almost sent Dwayne over the edge. He blamed the dead dudes for this and was prank calling them on a semi-daily basis.

"You're right. You know, we really will have to name our firstborn son after him," I said as I scrolled through the family pictures we'd had taken last week. They were a bit unconventional, considering some of us were in fabric and some in fur, but I thought they were beautiful.

Junior had been unsuccessful so far finding an antidote to the spell that had been put on my parents and the other feral Wolves. But I knew he would never give up. That was the kind of guy Junior was… just ask Sandy Moongie.

"Do we really have to?" Hank asked as he plopped down next to me and looked at the pictures.

"Yep, he convinced your mom he had to wear her dress. It might just mean we have to name all of our sons Dwayne."

"Like George Foreman?" Hank laughed. "Dwayne Jr, Dwayne the second, Dwayne the third and so on and so on and so on."

"Well, since I'm only blowing out two point five children, we could only have Dwayne Jr, Dwayne the second and Dwa," I explained to a laughing Hank.

"God, I love you, love you, love you," he said as he pulled me close.

"Should we go try and make Dwayne Jr?" I asked, running my hands over his broad chest.

"Wouldn't it be scandalous to be pregnant at the wedding?" he asked in mock horror as he slid his hands under my t-shirt and cupped my breasts. Shudders of pleasure shot through me and I arched to give him better access.

"I'm pretty sure my parents already know we do the nasty. How bad could a baby bump be?"

"Works for me," he said as he picked me up and carried me to our bedroom.

"You are so easy." I laughed as he tossed me on the bed.

"Only for you, Essie."

"Good thing you're mine then."

"Damn good thing," Hank agreed. Then he fell on top of me and let me know how much of a damn good thing it was.

And he was right.

It was a damn good thing.

A very, very, very, damn good thing.

## THE END (for now) ##

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
:
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~ Robyn Peterman

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KEEP READING in this ebook to read an excerpt from
Switching Hour
, Book 1 of the Magic and Mayhem
series.

Also included in the very back of this ebook is an excerpt from
Ariel: Nano Wolves 1
, a paranormal werewolf shifter series by Donna McDonald
.

Excerpt from
SWITCHING HOUR

Chapter 2

Dearest Zelda,

Apparently your Aunt Hildy died. Violently. You have inherited her home. Go there and make me proud that I didn't strip you of your magic. You will know what to do when you get there.

If you ever use the term “old lady crouch” again while referring to me I will remove your tongue.

xoxo Baba Yaga

P.S. The address is on the back of the note and there is a car for you parked in the garage under the hotel. It's the green one. The purple one is mine. If you even look at it, I will put all of your shoes up for sale on eBay. And yes, I am well aware you have eighty pairs.

"Motherhumper, what a bee-otch—put my shoes up for sale, my ass. And who in the hell is Aunt Hildy? I don't have a freakin' aunt named Hildy. Died violently? What exactly does ‘died violently’ mean?" I muttered to no one as I reread the ridiculous note. Goddess, I wondered what Winnie's note said, but we had gone our separate ways about an hour ago.

My mother was an only child and I hadn't seen her in years—so no Aunt Hildy on that side. My mom,
and I use the term loosely
, was an insanely powerful witch who had met some uber-hot, super weird Vampire ten years ago and they'd gone off to live in a remote castle in Transylvania. The end.

And my father...his identity was anyone's guess. In her day my mother had been a very popular and
active
witch. I suppose Baba
I Know Freakin’ Everything
Yaga knew who my elusive daddy was and Hildy must be his sister. Awesome.

I hustled my ass to the garage and gasped in dismay. In the far corner of the dank, dark, musty smelling garage sat a car…a green car. A lime green car. Even better, it was a lime green Kia. Was Baba YoMamma fucking joking? Why did I have to drive anywhere? I was a witch. I could use magic to get wherever I wanted to go.

Crap.

Did I even have enough magic to transport? Could I end up wedged in a time warp and stuck for eternity?

And what, pray tell, was this? A Porsche? Baba Yoyeastinfection drove a Porsche…of course she did.

I eyed the purple Porsche with envy and for a brief moment considered keying it. The look on Boobie Yoogie's face would be worth it, but another couple of years in the magic pokey plus having to watch my fancy footwear be auctioned off on eBay was enough to curb my impulse. However, I did lick my finger and smear it on the driver's side mirror. I was told not to look at it. The cryptic note mentioned nothing about touching it.

Glancing down at my orange jumpsuit I cringed. Did they really expect me to wear this? What the hell had become of me? I was a thirty-year-old paroled witch in orange prison wear and tennis shoes. My fingers ached to clothe myself in something cute and sassy. Did I dare? How would they even know?

Wait…she knew I called her old lady crouch. She would certainly know if I magicked up some designer duds. Shitballs. Orange outfit and red hair it was.

Thankfully the car had a GPS, not that I knew how to work anything electronic. I was a witch, for god's sake. I normally flicked my fingers or wiggled my nose. The address of my inheritance was in West Virginia. How freakin' far was West Virginia from Salem, Massachusetts?

Apparently eleven hours and twenty-one minutes.

It took me exactly forty-five minutes of swearing and punching the dashboard to figure that little nugget out. Bitchy Yicky was officially my least favorite person in the world. However, I was a little proud that I made the damn GPS work without using magic or blowing it up.

***

Five hours into the trip I was itchy, bloated and had a massive stomachache. Beef jerky and Milk Duds were not my friend. Top that off with a corn dog and two sixty-four ounce caffeinated sodas and I was a clusterfuck waiting to happen.

Thank the Goddess that New England was gorgeous in the fall. The colors were breathtaking, but they did little to calm my indigestion. The Kia had no radio reception, but luckily it did come with a country compilation CD that was stuck in the CD player. I was going deaf from the heartfelt warblings about pickup trucks, back roads and barefoot red necks—pretending to be mortal sucked. Six more hours and twenty-one minutes to go—shit.

"I can do this. I have to do this. I will do this," I shouted at the alarmed driver of a minivan while stopped at a traffic light in Bumfuck, Idon'tknowwhere.

"I'm baaaaaaack," something hissed from behind me.

"What the fu…?" I shrieked and jerked the wheel to the right, avoiding a bus stop and landing the car in a shallow ditch. "Who said that?"

"I diiiiiiiid," the ominous voice whispered. "Have yuooooooo misssssssed me?"

"Um, sure," I mumbled as I quietly removed my seatbelt and prepared to dive out of the car and try and catch a lift with the woman I'd terrified in the minivan. "I've missed you a ton."

"You look like shiiiiiiit in ooooorrrrangeeeee," it informed me.

That stopped me. Whatever monster or demon was in the backseat had just gone one step too far.

Scare me? Fine.

Insult me? Fry.

"Excuse me?" I snapped and whipped around to smite the fucker. Where was he? Was he invisible? "Show yourself."

"Down heeeeere on the floooooor," the thing said.

Peering over the seat, I gagged and threw up in my mouth just a little. This could not be happening. I pinched myself hard and yelped from the pain. It
was
happening and it was probably going to get ugly in twelve seconds.

"Um, hi Fabio, long time no see," I choked out, wondering if I made a run for it if he would follow and kill me. Or at the very least, would he get behind the wheel of the Kia and run me over…three times. "You're looking kind of alive."

"Thank youuuuuuuu," he said as he hopped over the seat and landed with a squishy thud entirely too close to me.

I plastered myself against the door and debated my next move. Fabio looked bad. He still resembled a cat, but he was kind of flat in the middle, his head was an odd shape and his tail cranked to the left. Most of his black fur still covered him except for a large patch on his face, which made him resemble a pinkish troll. He didn't seem too angry, but I did kill him. To be fair, I didn't mean to. I didn't know he was under the wheel and I kind of freaked and hit reverse and drive several times before I got out and screamed bloody murder. "So what are you doing here?"

"Not exxxxxxactly sure." He shook his little black semi-furred head and an ear fell off.

"Oh shit," I muttered and flicked it to the floor before he noticed. "I'm really sorry about killing you."

"No worrrrrrries. I quite enjoyed being buried in a Prrrrraaada shoeeee box."

"I thought that was a nice touch," I agreed. "Did you notice I left the shoe bags in there as a blanket and pillow?"

"Yesssssssssssss. Very comfortable." He nodded and gave me a grin that made my stomach lurch.

"Alrighty then, the question of the hour is are you still dead or um…"

"I thiiiink I'm aliiiiive. As soon as I realliiiized I was breathing I loooooked for you."

"Wow." I was usually more eloquent, but nothing else came to mind.