Witch Is The New Black (6 page)

Fuck. Why did this woman have to be so nice? Why did this house have to be so warm and inviting? Why couldn’t she just keep burying her head under the covers?

Because the days of managing whatever this is are over, Bernice Sutton. It’s too far gone. You’ve fucked up once too much. You served time. You’re an ex-con with a magical rap sheet now. Suck it.

Maybe the key to figuring out how
not
to be a witch anymore was to let these gurus teach her how to be one?

Bernie bit the bullet while she stared down at her ridiculous cowboy boots. “I need…” Her words hitched momentarily, her throat growing tight. “
Help
. I. Need. Help.”

Winnie smiled and squeezed her arm again. “At your service. But first, grab a shower and take an hour or so to just be. Okay?”

Tears started to rim her eyes. Big, ugly, hot tears of gratitude. She let her eyes fall to the floor again. “I don’t have any clothes. I only have this. Is there somewhere I can wash it?” she squeaked, fighting the lump in her throat.

Winnie laughed and plucked the arm of Bernie’s jumpsuit. “Oh, hell no, you can’t wash it. We’re gonna burn that tonight in the fire pit. It’s kind of a ritual around here. Our way of showing the universe you’re never going back to the pokey. I’ve pulled some clothes for you and placed them in the cubby marked with your name in the bathroom you’ll share with Vanessa across the hall. I apologize in advance if the clothes aren’t exactly in this decade—or even in the last two decades—but we had a full house until recently, and I’ve had trouble finding the time to sort through all the donations.”

“Donations? Can’t you just wave your wand and make some appear?” For that matter, couldn’t she? The words slipped from her mouth before she could stop them.

Winnie winked a beautiful eye. “Lesson number one—no magic for personal gain. I’m sure they preached that to you back in Cellblock Hell. It’s a rule you should always follow, even once you leave here, but it’s also a rule we enforce here at the house. We work for everything we own, and you’ll collect a paycheck from Ridge once a week. You won’t get rich from it, but it should be enough to pick up some things.”

“Ridge…” His name zipped past her lips before her common sense could take hold.

Winnie grinned, appearing pleased. “Yeah,” she said on a wistful sigh. “He’s not a bad boss to have, huh? If I wasn’t sick with love over my husband, I can’t promise I wouldn’t be a rancher’s wife. He’s definitely easy like Sunday morning on the eyes.”

So easy
. “He was very nice about me burning down his barn.”

Winnie scoffed. “Oh, Bernie, lighten up, honey!” She looked at her son and chuckled, tickling his round belly. “Tell Miss Bernie to lighten up, would you, Benny? Tell her accidents happen and we’re going to teach her how to prevent them. Then we’re going to teach her how to enjoy her magic. Right, buddy?”

Ben responded by giggling and leaning his forehead against Winnie’s.

Enjoy her magic? Heh. Bernie remained silent, refusing to voice how un-enjoyable the last twenty years of her life had been.

“Anyway, clothes,” Winnie said. “I’ve got ’em. Also, the magic. That spiels not to say that from time to time us witches don’t whip up something fabulous. Because we do, but we’ve also learned our lesson about the meaning of hard work and its value as a result of keeping our magic in check.”

“I don’t know how to whip up something fabulous anyway. I can, however, apparently whip up a good campfire.”
Let it go, Bernie…

Winnie barked a laugh as she made her way across the planked-wood floor, her ballet slippers hushing out a soft rhythm. “We do roast weenies out in the garden from time to time. You’ll fit in here fine, Just Bernie. Good to have you aboard!” She let the door close behind her, leaving Bernie to wonder what Winnie had done to come into all this good fortune.

Fee stretched and yawned, his mouth opening wide. “These are some pretty sweet digs. We’re off to a good start, Bernie girl.”

Bernie sat at the edge of the bed, careful not to rumple the beautiful yellow and blue quilt with patches of pink and red flowers, and stretched her legs.

“You smell like dead people.”

“Have you smelled dead people?”

“You’d be surprised what I’ve smelled.”

“No. I probably wouldn’t.”

“Go get a shower, Farmer Sutton. Take a load off for a little bit.”

“Did you know the showers are timed? I read that in the rules.”

“Then you’d better shake a leg, because you have a lot of showering.”

“Fee?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for forcing yourself on me. I kinda like you right now.”

He rubbed his chin on her thigh. “The same way Batman likes Robin?”

Bernie popped her lips and grinned teasingly down at him. “More like Bert likes Ernie.”

Fee chuffed. “Bert doesn’t really like Ernie. He tolerates him.”

Bernie chuckled as she rose to shuffle off for her timed shower. Bert did tolerate Ernie and his shenanigans, but in the end, Bert needed Ernie in his life.

She was okay with admitting she needed Fee in hers.

* * * *

Fee’s mouth dropped open when Bernie rushed back into her assigned bedroom, closing the door behind her and hoping no one saw her until she could figure out how to do something—anything—with her loaned clothing.

She planted herself in front of the mirror as
her
mouth fell open, too.

“Is that an
elastic waistband
?” he asked in horror. “And oh, holy slap in the face to Louboutin, are those orthopedic shoes? In mud brown?”

“What of it?” She hiked her loaned pants up under her breasts and sighed as she eyed them in the mirror. Sweet Susan, she looked like someone’s grandmother.

No. Even the seniors from the center she’d caught a quick glimpse of dressed more stylishly than she was dressed.

Fee moaned, falling to his back in dramatic Fee fashion. “I feel faint.”

Bernie gave him some side eye. “Judgment from a cat who wears a tutu and a tiara?”

“All from
this
century, I might add. You know, the after-the-churning-butter-and-beating-your-clothes-on-a-washboard-at-the-creek past, but before-we-successfully-land-on-Mars future. Listen, we can fix this, Granny. Come here.”

She straightened the collar on her button-up shirt with the pocket bedazzled in splashy red and yellow butterflies and the doilies ironed on the front of it and shook her head. “No, Fee. No magic. You heard Winnie.”

He clucked his tongue. “You’re right. Besides, I don’t think even magic can help that get up, Pook. Was there nothing in that cubby more suited to a thirty-something?”

Smoothing her hair down, she wrinkled her nose. “There was a dress that came straight off the back of Laura Ingalls fresh from the prairie, and some more pants with elastic waists. Oh, and a yellow velour tracksuit. I’m saving that for the ice storm I prayed for this afternoon or a special occasion—whichever comes first.”

“Then maybe we could offer Winnie a hand going through those donations?”

“We don’t have time for that now, Fee.”

“How are you gonna wow Ridge in grandma pants and old-lady shoes?”

Her brow furrowed as she put some ointment on her dry lips. “Ridge? Why would I have to worry about wowing him?”

“Because he’s downstairs.”

Bernie froze, her hands going icy. She didn’t know what it was about him that made her feel so damned raw, but it was there and as plain as the nose on her face.

You do know. It’s because he’s so damned good-looking and even in lava-like conditions, he smells like he just got out of the shower.

“Why is he here, Fee?” she moaned before she could stop herself.

“They’re havin’ some kinda barbeque to welcome you. That’s why he’s here.”

A thread of fear laced the pit of her stomach. “But I thought it was just a welcome dinner with the rest of the women here—like a normal ex-con dinner. You know, all of us felons gathered ’round the table, waiting to see who’s going to heist the silverware first?”

“Winnie’s invited everyone to get to know you. Paris is a small southern town, honey. It’s what they do. Bake pies. Make casseroles. Butt into your business. The women here in rehabilitation aren’t hardcore criminals. They didn’t buy plastic sheets and disinfectant for their serial kills. They’ve committed petty crimes and abused their magic. So the people in town like to get to know them and make them feel like they’re a part of the community. In fact, some of the best friendships and working relationships have been forged from the women who came to Winnie and Ben’s.”

Community
.

That meant a crowd. God, she hated crowds. Something always went wrong when there was a crowd and she was in the mix. Chandeliers fell on people’s heads. Cakes exploded in unsuspecting faces. Halter dresses untied themselves with magic invisible fingers and fell to the floor, revealing her high school best friend’s breasts to everyone attending prom.

Pulling her hair up into a ponytail, she sucked in some air and sat on the edge of the bed, her stomach in a tight knot as she looked at her now crushed faux Academy Award. She was never going to be able to get through this.

“Can’t do it, Fee.”

“Can so and you will, Bernie. I won’t have you slightin’ these nice people. I raised you better n’ that.”

She gripped the quilt in her fist and squeezed the material. “No…you don’t understand. Things happen when I’m nervous or uncomfortable. Bad things. Like today.”

“Okay, Bernie, enough! You hear me? Enough hiding from whatever you’re hiding from and take charge of this. Take charge
now
. I will absolutely not be a familiar to a whiner. This ‘I can’t’ attitude’s ruled your life far longer than should have been allowed. But that’s all over now, Miss. We’re through with the pansy-ass portion of this rodeo. We have a real chance here, B. A real chance to learn and grow and make friends with people you need in your pathetic life. Now, get off this bed, march your sweet granny pants downstairs and focus on keeping your cool or I’m going to give you a hemorrhoid the size of a hot-air balloon!”

“Can you really do that?”

“Do what?” he huffed, jumping off the bed and heading for the door.

“Give me a hemorrhoid.”

“I might blow chunks at elementals, but afflictions I got down to a science, Bernie girl. Your anus will weep like a big ol’ willow.”

Fee was right. The key to making this better was to learn how to handle it. But that didn’t make the moving any easier.

Fee moved in menacing circles, herding her like he had when it came time for a support group meeting back in prison. “Get up, Bernie, or prepare to buy Prep H in bulk.”

Her legs were stiff when she rose, but who wanted a hemorrhoid in this heat? “Will you come with?” she asked, hating how shaky her voice sounded.

“As the great Bette Midler once said, just call me the wind beneath your wings. I’ll always go where you go.
Always, Bernie
.”

* * * *

Bernie slipped through the crowd of people, smiling at the occasional friendly face, and headed straight into the kitchen, hoping to hide in the pantry until this was over.

“Bernie!” Winnie called, waving her over to a group of people and Ridge.

Shit
.

Fee swished his back end up against her legs. “Focus, Bernie. Focus on the situation. Say hello, pleased to meet you, and breathe. You can hear me in your head if you need me, so just listen. Now git ’er done,” he whispered up at her.

She made her way past some of the seniors she recognized from this morning, who waved and patted her on the arm encouragingly, and smiled at Winnie, keeping her eyes locked on her face for all she was worth. “Evening,” she murmured to them.

Winnie’s grin was broad, beautiful, full of life as she stood next to her handsome husband Ben, who shot a welcoming tilt of his lips down at her. “This is our girl of the hour, everyone. We’re so glad she’s here with us!”

A woman with blonde hair, big breasts and the most statement jewelry Bernie had ever seen on any one person opened her arms to her as though they’d always known each other.

She hugged Bernie hard before looping her fingers through a large, very good looking man’s arm and briefly smiling up at him in adoration. “Welcome, welcome to Paris, Bernie! I’m Daphne and this handsome devil is my husband, Fate.”

Fate? What mother named her child Fate?

The kind of mother who gives birth to the dude in charge of fate
, Fee whispered in her head.
Now
,
hand out, greet, breathe, Bernie
.

She awkwardly jammed her hand forward and inhaled the scent of Daphne’s perfume. “Nice to meet you.”

Fate took her hand and gave it a firm shake, his eyes warm and reassuring. “Great to meet you, Bernie.”

Winnie squeezed her shoulder and turned her toward the rest of the group. “This gorgeous, supermodel-tall Amazon is Calla Ryder, who you sort of missed a formal introduction to in all the excitement this afternoon. She runs the senior center. And this is her husband Nash. They own the farm neighboring Ridge’s.”

Was there a single ugly soul in this town?

Witches are stupidly beautiful, Bernie
, Fee said.

Which should just prove I’m not a witch.

No, that just proves you’re an idiot with poor eyesight and a cracked mirror. Now hush and I’ll give you the lowdown. Nash is a warlock, but Calla’s a werewolf—

A what? Stop. Stop right now, Fee. You’re just making things up.

Might I remind you of the talking testicles?

Point, pussycat.

“And this,” Winnie said, pointing to a stout woman with a square haircut, plaid culottes and a whistle around her neck, “Is Greta. Or BIC, as I called her back in the day.”

“BIC?” Bernie repeated the letters Winnie had spelled out before she could stop herself from initiating a conversation she was totally too uncomfortable to have.

“Bitch In Charge!” Winnie and Daphne said simultaneously, followed by gales of laughter.