Queen Witch Page 4

  I glanced at Sera. Her face went as pale as the moon.

  "Are you okay?"

  She shook her head. "I didn't do that. I don't even know how to do that."

  The entire tray of cheese exploded into little snapping sounds. I shrank back.

  "Get them away," someone shouted. "Take them out of here."

  Within seconds a bustle of people had removed the food from the area.

  "Well," I said, smirking, "that's one way to make sure we don't help Gertrude."

  "But I didn't do that," Sera said. "I don't know what happened."

  I rubbed her arm. "Consider it a blessing."

  Bannock the Butler stepped to the center. "It's time for the voting to begin."

  A silver bowl appeared in the middle of the dimly lit hall. A light wrapped it in a glowing halo. A slip of paper and a pencil appeared before each and every one of us. I didn't hesitate when I wrote down Em's name.

  "Am I late?"

  I looked over my shoulder and saw Roman smiling at me. "Where've you been?"

  "I had a few things to take care of. Did I miss anything?"

  "Only some exploding food."

  He quirked an eyebrow. "Sounds exciting."

  "If you only knew."

  One by one witches cast their ballots in the silver basin. When everyone had gone, Bannock approached the bowl.

  "Has everyone voted?" he said.

  "No, everyone has not voted."

  I glanced at the entrance of the hall.

  "Not voted," squawked an all too familiar voice.

  My paternal grandmother, Milly Jones, caned her way to the front of the room. Polly, the wooden parrot, sat squarely on her shoulder. Milly's mouth dipped so far into a frown I wouldn't have been surprised if her lips swept the floor clean.

  "I haven't voted."

  "Of course," Bannock said, bowing. "Pardon me. I wasn't aware you were coming."

  Milly sneered. "I never miss a vote, Bannock. You know that. I'm always asked to come. Now someone give me some paper so we can get this thing over with."

  I stifled a laugh. I glanced over at Sera, but she was rubbing worry lines into her forehead one finger at a time. "Will you stop thinking about the food? It's not a big deal."

  Her mouth dropped. "It is a big deal. I didn't do that."

  I squeezed her hand. "It's probably something about the magic in the castle. I'm sure you'll be fine as soon as we get home."

  Which should be in about five minutes. Once Em won this thing.

  Milly scratched down her vote and placed it in the bowl. The bowl hissed and spit, burped and spewed.

  I leaned into Roman. "What's it doing?"

  "Counting the votes," he said.

  "You know this?"

  Roman gave a slight nod. "I grew up here, remember?"

  The bowl stopped seizing. A small square of paper shot from its mouth and landed in Bannock's hands. He uncoiled it and cleared his throat.

  "The next Queen Witch of the South is…"

  I held my breath. Bannock's gaze cut from one side of the room to the other.

  "Gertrude Boxbigger."

  bookmark:Chapter Four

  FOUR

  The room went stone quiet except for Gertrude, who dashed into the center, waving at the crowd.

  "Thank you. Thank you, everyone." She blew kisses, which made my stomach turn.

  "This is bad," I said.

  "It's beyond bad," Roman said darkly. "She'll destroy us all."

  I glanced up at him. "Is there nothing we can do?"

  He shook his head, an expression of pain on his face. "I don't know. There's someone I need to talk to. Hang tight. I'll be back."

  I watched as my one anchor in this place walked off.

  "Em didn't tell me this was going to be a family reunion." Milly hobbled over with the help of her knotted cane. No fancy dress for my grandmother. Nope. She wore her normal attire of black orthopedic shoes, support hose, gray skirt, shapeless blouse and brown cardigan. I'd attempted on numerous occasions to get her into some of the clothes from my shop, Perfect Fit, but she was, to say the least, not interested.

  I smiled. "She didn't mention anything about reunions to us, either. But here we are."

  "Here we are," squawked Polly.

  I wrung out my ear with my finger and said, "Do you have to take him everywhere you go?"

  "He's my signature look."

  "Your signature look," I said.

  "You got it, toots."

  Polly lifted off Milly's shoulder. It paused, staring at me with beady wooden eyes.

  I stepped to the right, but Polly continued to hover. I stepped left, but it matched my movements.

  "What's it doing?" I said to Milly. "Is it thinking of attacking?"

  "Polly doesn't hurt people," Milly said.

  I circled around Sera. I peeked over her shoulder. Polly flapped the air, wooden eyes betraying nothing of its intentions. "What does it want?"

  "I don't know. Come out and see."

  I gave Milly a wary glance. "You're sure it's not going to hurt me."

  "Polly's got better things to do. Trust me."

  "There's something wrong with that sentence. It's a wooden bird. The thing shouldn't even be alive."

  Sera twisted her neck to look at me. "There's so much wrong with all of those sentences. This place shouldn't even exist, for all we knew ten minutes ago."

  I rose from my crouched position. "That's even more true. None of this should be real." I walked around her, watching Polly closely. It didn't make any quick movements, but I still didn't trust the bird. Perhaps it wanted to use its little wooden talons to gouge out my eyes.

  Listen, you can never be too alert around magic.

  Polly beat its wings, slowly gliding toward me. I closed my eyes and clenched my fists.

  Little hooky talons clamped onto my right shoulder.

  I inhaled a tiny breath. "What's it doing?" I squeaked.

  "Sitting," Milly said. "What does it look like?"

  "I wouldn't know. My eyes are still closed."

  "If you opened them, you'd know," she replied.

  "Sera?" I said.

  "Yep."

  "Tell me. Is it staring at me as if it's going to eat me?"

  "No. It's just sitting there like it always does."

  I winked open one eye. Sure as shinola, there sat Polly, peering out at the world from my shoulder.

  "Milly, can you get it off, please?"

  She leaned on her cane. "No."

  "No?"

  Milly shrugged. "He looks happy. Let him sit there. He won't stay for forever."

  I exhaled. "But what does it want?"

  Milly cackled. "Ask him."

  I scoffed. "Very funny."

  Milly caned over to me and placed a hand on my unoccupied shoulder. "Perk up, toots. Could be worse." She glanced around at the rest of my family. "So. What's with all the sour looks?"

  Grandma lifted her arms in defeat. "That ghastly woman won, of course."

  Milly turned toward Gertrude, who was mingling with her fans. "Yes. Something will have to be done about that."

  Grandma adjusted one of the gazillion clanking rings she wore on every finger. "She reminds me of the queen under the earth."

  "What queen under the earth?" I said.

  Grandma brushed a bit of lint off her pant leg. She hadn't bothered to wear a dress to the voting. Instead she had opted for a black velvet pantsuit. Something she found in our room, she'd told me.

  "The queen under the earth, Dylan. Pay attention. Anyway, in my youth I went on an expedition to the underground kingdoms. The prince, of course, was wonderful, but his mother…boy was she a battle-ax."

  "You don't say?" I mused.

  "No, I do not." Grandma flashed a look around the room. "It was rumored she was stealing magic. Had a bad habit of looking wonderful one day and terrible the next."

  I quirked a brow. "And that means she was stealing magic?"

  "It's a sign
of it," Milly said. "The more magic you rely on, the more you need. Take it away and all you've got is a shriveled stump of a person."

  "Charming," I said.

  Grandma wiggled her fingers. "I must confer with the monkey king about Gertrude. See if we can work out a peace treaty before this new queen blows herself up into a giant and smashes Fairyland."

  I tilted my head sideways. "A giant?"

  Grandma gave me a wide-eyed look of exasperation. "Of course a giant. Size is the only thing on her side. Only a fool wouldn't use it to the best of their abilities. Now, where's Brock? Ah, there he is."

  All eyes twirled to the left, where Grandma had spotted the cutting figure of the man we'd met earlier. Roman stood next to him, and the duo appeared to be in heavy conversation. Hmm. That was interesting. I hadn't realized they knew each other.

  Who was I kidding? The witching world was a small one, apparently.

  Sera perked up at the mention of the hunky monkey king. "Grandma, let me help you with that."

  Grandma regarded her. "This is diplomatic talk, Sera. Not sure if you're qualified to listen."

  "But you might need an interpreter," Sera said.

  "Don't be ridiculous, Sera. The monkey king speaks English."

  My sister brushed a curtain of hair from her blue eyes. "But the other monkeys might need help."

  "And where did you learn to speak monkey?" Grandma completely ignored that there were no monkeys around.

  "On the interweb," Sera said, not missing a beat.

  Grandma poked the air with her index finger. "All right then, you can come. Nan, you too. It'll make me look more official."

  Milly thumped her cane on the floor. "I'm joining you. We may need to start making some plans."

  Nan gave a little salute, and they left.

  "So can we go yet?" Reid said, turning to me. "Rick will be arriving at the house any minute."

  I gave her a tender smile. "Soon, Reid. Don't worry. No one wants you to miss your date."

  "Well, I'm going back to the room."

  I found myself alone—scratch that, I now had a parrot on my shoulder. Discovering myself in the midst of a mingling crowd, I decided to change my clothes. The sooner we got out of here, the better. I beelined for the arched opening.

  Gertrude stopped me. "Dylan," she squealed.

  I sighed. "Yes?"

  Her ham-hock hands clasped mine. Ugh. They were sweaty. It was like being encased in a moist towel of perspiration. Not my idea of a picnic.

  She grinned. "Thank you. I couldn't have done this without you. The food was a mess, of course." Her eyes slewed toward the corner of the room. "Not sure what that sister of yours did, but you made up for it with this dress."

  "Okay," I said.

  She spat a wad of bubble gum onto the floor.

  Disgusting.

  Gertrude vanished it, which almost made up for spitting. She pulled a new cube from, you guessed it, her breast. She popped it into her mouth.

  "Thank you again," she said between chews.

  I nodded as she puckered her lips. A bubble ballooned from her mouth. It grew well past the point where a person normally popped it.

  The bubble continued to grow. Gertrude's eyes widened with fright. It popped, splattering over her face and encasing her head.

  She screamed. At least it looked like she screamed. No sound erupted from her mouth. Gertrude clutched her face and ran from the room.

  "The queen," someone yelled.

  The throng of us—yes, me included—followed her. We found Gertrude near the entrance of the castle, sprawled across the floor. When I saw her sightless eyes and her puffed cheeks, I knew what had happened.

  Gertrude, the new Queen Witch of the South, had been suffocated by her own bubblegum.

  The wicked witch was dead.

  bookmark:Chapter Five

  FIVE

  "That's it," I said. "We're out of here."

  I stood with my family at the entrance of the castle. Roman towered in front of the door, staring at me. "You want to leave?"

  "Yes, I want to leave. The new queen was murdered. My family isn't involved. So yes, we're getting out of here."

  Roman studied me. As soon as Gertrude's death had been deemed a murder, which took about two seconds, I'd gathered up my family and whisked them in here. No one had cast a spell making travel impossible to or from the castle, so I figured getting Grandma into an open space would make transporting us home easier. You know, she liked to joke about leaving hands and feet behind.

  At least, I think they were jokes.

  Roman twirled a toothpick between curving lips. "Dylan, I can't just let you leave. There's an active murder investigation going on."

  I stomped forward. "Oh yes, you can. We didn't do it. We had absolutely nothing to do with Gertrude's death. You know that. I know that. Now step aside and let my grandmother do some magic that will take us back home. Now."

  "But I'd only just met Brock," Sera whined.

  I shot her a look of death. "Do you want to stay here? See who dies next?"

  She shrugged. "We don't know that anyone will die next."

  I slapped my thighs. "Of course someone will. Someone always dies when we're around witches."

  "Squawk! Around witches."

  Did I mention I hated Polly Parrot? He still sat clamped to my shoulder, no hint of when he was going to fly away.

  Or spontaneously combust.

  Roman took me gently by the shoulders. I stared into the wash of green eyes. He gave me a firm look. "Dylan, if I let you go, I have to let everyone go."

  I gripped his rock biceps. "Don't tell them. They don't have to know. Please." I bit down on my lip, trying to hold it together.

  It was too much. Every time we got around witches, someone died. Every single time.

  No more. I was done. I was out of here.

  Roman inhaled, scrubbed a hand over the wheat-colored stubble on his cheeks. "Okay. You can go."

  I threw my arms around him. "Thank you. Thank you so much!"

  I grabbed my grandmother Hazel's hand and said, "Grandma, get us out of here."

  She nodded. "Next stop. Home."

  "But we must crown a new Queen Witch," someone said in the background. "We must have a new queen!"

  "We cannot be in flux," another said.

  I felt Grandma pause. "Keep going," I said. "This doesn't involve us."

  "Everyone wait!"

  The voice sent a shock wave through my body. Jonathan Pearbottom, inspector for the Witch Police, strode through the entrance, his red and black plaid cape flying. A gaggle of witches followed. He took one look at our group and stopped. The crowd tumbled in behind him, pushing and shoving.

  "A new queen must be crowned," said one witch.

  "There must be an interim queen," said someone else.

  "It must be someone without position."

  Jonathan Pearbottom locked gazes with me. Now, Pearbottom didn't like me. At all. We'd had a couple of encounters, neither of which I would categorize as pleasant. Once he suggested that Sera and I be severely punished for accidentally working magic in front of regular folks.

  When I say severely punished, I mean put to death.

  Yeah. We weren't exactly buddies.

  Anyway, our gazes were superglued as murmurs rippled through the crowd. I held my breath, hoping beyond hope he wouldn't say what I had the sixth sense he was about to.

  Pearbottom sneered. "How about Dylan Apel for queen?"

  No!

  "Yes," said one witch.

  "I love her dresses," cooed another.

  "Make her the queen," shouted the crowd.

  No! I'm about to go home! I'm about to be out of this place and away from witches for the rest of my life.

  Jonathan Pearbottom smirked. "Dylan Apel, until this investigation is solved—"

  "Hold on, Jonathan," Roman warned.

  Pearbottom arched an eyebrow. "Would you like to suggest someone else? And you know it can't be
Esmerelda because she was running for reelection."

  Roman exhaled. He looked at me, sorrow in his eyes. I knew what he was going to say. He was going to tell me I had to do it.

  I backed up. "Wait, y'all," I said. "Surely there's someone better than me."

  A throat cleared off to the side. There stood Bannock the Butler without his silver tray or stopwatch. Kind of made him look a little naked.

  "Lady Dylan is right. There are plenty of other qualified candidates here who know much more about Castle Witch and its politics. She should be removed from consideration purely for her own protection. Someone with a bit more, um, season would be a better choice."

  Milly stepped forward. "How about this for season? Want me? I know it all. I've done it all. I was queen for years. I'll take her place."

  My ears nearly bled as the sound of groans washed over the crowd. Fear scrambled up my throat. No. It couldn't be me. I couldn't do it. I wouldn't do it.

  Pearbottom scoured the crowd with his gaze and then fixed it back on me. "It looks like the people have spoken. Dylan Apel, you are now Queen Witch of the South."

  No!

  Reid threw her purse to the ground in true eighteen-year-old temper-tantrum fashion. "Well there goes my date with Rick."

  bookmark:Chapter Six

  SIX

  "No no no. I don't want to do this."

  The next morning I was whisked away to some sort of salon where a male witch—or wizard or warlock or whatever—wearing a deep purple suit and a high swoosh of dark hair stood gesticulating about what he wanted to do with my signature high ponytail.

  Pierre Pompadour steepled his hands in front of his nose. "But Madam Dylan, I'm only trying to make you the most beautiful Dylan you can be."

  "I don't want to be the most beautiful Dylan I can be. I want to be myself."

  He gestured toward my hair. "But this, this…thing. It does you no good justice. You need—what do you call it—pizazz in your life. Allow me just to trim this little bit and let it tumble over your shoulders. It will be all sexy and stuff."

  I leaned away. Polly Parrot gripped my shoulder, his little wooden wings flapping as he balanced to keep up with my movements. No, girl, I hadn't gotten rid of it yet, but I sure was working on it. The bird was like a giant, flapping zit—annoying. I wondered if squirting a little Windex on it would make it vanish.