A Witch In Time: Magic and Mayhem Book Three (10 page)

Not exactly the reply my dad was going for.

“While I find your dedication humbling, I’m fairly sure I’m going to be ill,” Fabio told her. “Bob will now be playing Christopher. You will not hump Bob. Are we clear?”

“Wait. What?” Bob screeched in a soprano pitch that put all the women in our cast to shame. “I’m the choreographer and the writer. I can’t play a role.”

“Yes you can,” Fabio stated calmly as his fingers sparked ominously in opposition to his tone. “You will play Christopher so your play doesn’t turn into a musical porno.”

Bob slowly made his way to the stage as if he was walking to the guillotine—whimpering the entire way.

“Let’s try a scene with Zelda,” Fabio suggested as he waved his hands and created a brisk wind that blew Sassy, Bob and Jeeves right off the stage and into the audience. “Just take it from page three and give it to me with feeling.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” I groused as I opened my script. “There’s no page three.” I held up the pages filled with nonsensical dialogue to prove my point.

“Oh my Goddess,” Bob screeched, ran up on stage and forced his script into my hands. “This one is correct. Use mine.”

I nodded my thanks and opened to page three…

What. The. Ever-Loving. Hell?

“I can’t say this.”

“Yes you can.” Dad encouraged me. “It’s your first big entrance. You just walk to center and talk—loud. Your outfit will be so stunning most people won’t even hear what you’re saying. The applause will be huge.”

“But still,” I started, scanning the page and wondering whether to laugh or snap my fingers and burn the offending pages to a crisp.

“Just try it, baby,” Dad begged. “Please?”

If Fabio hadn’t said baby and please, I would have walked over to Bob and shoved the wad of paper up his beaver butt. If this was a sample of his writing, it was no wonder people got eaten and stabbed during the other productions.

“Everyone in the room place your cell phones on the stage at my feet,” I instructed tightly. “I can’t risk what I’m about to do ending up on YouTube. And if anyone so much as breathes loudly I will crunch your phone under my Prada combat boot. I will also make sure you grow several warts and possibly a hemorrhoid.”

The phones literally flew to the stage. Once I was certain the impending clusterfuck would not be recorded for posterity, I prepared myself to plunge into hell.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Dad said.

Inhaling through my nose and blowing it slowly out of my mouth helped tamp down the need to blow up the building. I liked most of the people here and I’d be the one to have to heal all the burn victims. Not a good use of time or magic.

New leaf, new leaf, new leaf… I was doing this for Fabio. Fabio was my dad. Fabio had no friends because they all owed him money. He wanted to fit in. I could help make that happen… Shit. I was trying my damndest to be worthy of the tree house. So if pretending to be an insane mother from the under world was going to get me closer to my goal… so be it.

Loud. He said loud. I could do loud.

“It’s a rap,” Bob volunteered with misguided pride.

“I’m sorry, what?” I asked, sure I’d just heard incorrectly.

“You’re lines are a rap and I’ll beat box underneath them.”

“That’s a joke, right?” I asked through clenched teeth as I began to glow.

“Um… no?” Bob whispered as he successfully pulled the right side of his uni-brow clean off his head.

Well, there was one less thing I had to do. Now if I could just terrify him into ripping off the left side.

The beat boxing started quietly and then gained volume and speed. It was atrocious. He would have been cut from American Idol after two seconds. Where the hell was Simon Cowell when you needed him? The cast moved quickly away from Bob as he spit profusely while keeping the beat.

Was I really going to do this? The hopeful expression on my dad’s face said I was. Shitshitshit.

Here goes nothing…

“My name is Joan. I’m a really cool cat.

I’m an actress and a mom without an inch of fat.

Wash my face with ice. Smear my wrinkles with goop.

I beat the dog’s ass if he takes a poop.

Wear my hair in a band so it don’t get greasy.

Get laid all the time, but I’m not easy.

My kiddies call them Uncle. I call them Joe.

Can’t remember their names, but I’m no ho.

I’m the greatest actress to ever live.

But if you put your hand out, I’m not gonna give.

I hate wire hangers. If you use them beware.

I’ll yank you outta bed and remove your hair.

I like my vodka and the casting couch.

Don’t screw with Joan, cuz I’m no slouch.

Word.”

The room was stunned to silence as was I. No one was breathing at all—smart people. The tree house was going to have to live on without me. There was no way on the Goddess’s green earth I was going to repeat any of that crap in this lifetime. Maybe I could offer to turn myself into a cat and be my dad’s familiar to make it up to him.

“Is this even historically accurate?” I shouted as I tossed the script in the air and burned it to ash with a flick of my fingers.

“Well, I might have taken a few liberties to make it all rhyme,” Bob pathetically defended his dreck.

“Dude, were you drunk?” I asked in the same loud voice that scarred the inhabitants of the room with my rap. My hands were sparking and Bob was seconds away from losing the left side of his uni-brow—violently—along with all of the rest of the hair on his body and possibly an appendage.

“Um… no.”

“Zelda has a point,” Fabio cut in swiftly with his hands in his hair. He’d worked it into an interesting hair-do. It was standing straight up on his head. “I’m going to do a few re-writes tonight. And we’ll get back to the actual script tomorrow. How’s that sound?”

“A few?” I snapped.

“A lot,” he promised.

“Great,” Sassy yelled. “I just want everyone to know that I’m a method actress and I’ll be conducting myself as such during the rehearsal process. Do you guys think it would be okay if Christina boinked a studio head?” she asked in all seriousness as she held tightly to Jeeves.

No one would even touch it.

“I think since Christina had dreams of being an actress herself, it would make complete sense for her to prostitute herself with a studio head,” Jeeves told her lovingly.

“Goddess, you are so hot,” Sassy squealed as she dragged Jeeves to the exit. “I’ll be home later Mommie,” she called over her shoulder to me as they breezed out of the Center.

Again the silence was heavy. Again I wanted to blow up the building, but Sassy had left, so it was moot.

“What exactly did she mean?” I demanded in a low tone reserved for wiping out bad guys as the rest of the cast sprinted out of the hall in terror.

“I think it means she’s going to be your daughter until the show is over,” Bob choked out as he too high tailed it out of the Center.

I stared daggers at my dad who had the decency to look chagrined.

“How about this?” he suggested carefully. “We go home and I make a double vat of chocolate chip cookie dough and vanilla milkshakes.”

I’m pretty sure my silence unnerved him.

“And a batch of brownies and a dozen oatmeal scotchies?”

“Two dozen,” I bargained. “And you have to burn the cookies.”

“Deal,” he said with relief. “Is the wolf coming over tonight?”

“The wolf has a name and no. Mac is on patrol. Apparently there are chipmunk Shifters in the area.”

“That certainly doesn’t bode well,” Dad mumbled as he packed up his directing gear, which consisted of his script, photographs of Joan Crawford and a beret.

“You think they’re trying to steal our
play,
for lack of a better word?” I asked as I piled the forgotten cell phones in a neat stack on the table in the back of the room.

“Goddess no. No one in their right mind would want this piece of crap.”

“See?” I snapped. “I’m not crazy. It’s horrible. Bob is talent free—even more than I am.”

“I’ll fix it or we’ll just do
Grease
. I love that show.”

I was my dad’s daughter through and through. “Me too,” I squealed. “Can I be the principal?”

“Yes, baby. If we dump
Mommie Dearest
, you can be the principal in
Grease
. Let’s go stuff our faces.”

It was the best idea I’d heard all evening. I took my dad’s offered hand and went out into the night with him. Maybe it would all work out.

And then again, maybe not.

CHAPTER 10

“I’m going to bed.” I groaned as I tried to stand. I was satiated to the point of coma.

Fabio had made good on his word and we’d both eaten our own weight in sweets. Magical metabolism was the greatest thing ever. I might feel like poop on a sharp stick at the moment, but give me an hour and I’d be able to eat again.

“Shall I ward the house so Sassy can’t come home to her mommie?” Fabio asked with an evil little grin as he waved his hands and magically made all the dirty bowls and plates float to the sink.

“While the idea is tempting, I’d hate it if someone needed healing and couldn’t get to me.”

“You’re dedicated to your job, my dear. Me thinks you might like it.”

“Don’t think. It’s dangerous. Speaking of a job, I need to find one where I get paid. I can’t keep mooching off of you,” I said as I one upped my dad and sent the dirty dishes from the sink to the dishwasher with a wiggle of my nose.

“What are you talking about, Zelda?”

“I need to be able to pay my bills and stand on my own two feet. I’ve almost gone through my pitiful savings and while it’s really nice that you’re loaded and all, it’s not my money. Since I’m not allowed to conjure up designer duds anymore and I’m turning over a painful and vomitous new leaf, I need to earn my way,” I told him as he stared opened mouth at me.

“Darling there’s a very generous stipend for being the Shifter Whisperer and your Aunt Hildy left you a considerable fortune along with her house. Not to mention I’ve put half of what I own in your name.”

Now it was my turn to gape silently. This was too much. The stipend was nice, but the rest was uncomfortably mind-boggling.

“I have money?” I choked out in a whisper.

“Money would be an understatement,” Fabio replied with a lopsided grin. “You, my princess, are set for many lifetimes.”

“But it’s not mine,” I argued, torn between screaming for joy or firmly but begrudgingly declining my windfall. My fingers twitched to go online and start buying all the things I’d been bookmarking for months, but that was bad. Wasn’t it?

“It most certainly is yours. A gift is a gift and you should accept it gracefully.”

Mmmkay,” I said doubtfully. “But what if I want to blow the whole amount on purses and shoes? I’m not sure I should be trusted with an ass-load of cash.”

“I see where you’re going,” Fabio agreed and sat down to think. “How about I lock it up in a trust and you have to go through me to get to it.”

“Like Britney Spears and her father?” I questioned, wondering if Fabio was anymore responsible than I was.

“Who’s that?”

“A pop star who had several identity crises and shaved her head,” I replied as I plopped down next to him.

“Are you planning on shaving your head?” His expression was alarmed and he gave me the raised eyebrow.

I considered screwing with him, but I was too full to do anything where I might laugh hard. The repercussions could be embarrassing and highly unlady-like.

“No. No, I’m not. I’m far too vain to do something like that.”

“Thank Goddess,” he muttered and let his eyebrow fall back to its normal home on his face. “Then sure. We’re like this Britney and her father.”

“Exactly how much money do I have?”

“Can you handle the truth?”

I considered carefully. So many of my questions led to answers I didn’t want to know. However, I was one who opened presents early, rewrapped them and then feigned surprise when I reopened them.

“Nooooo, but now you have to tell me, Jack Nicholson. I probably can’t
handle the truth
, but give it to me anyway.”

“Several hundred billion,” he mumbled.

“That is wrong on so many levels,” I shouted, mentally counting how many Birkin bags I could potentially own and then slapping myself in the head for being so shallow. “How many people did you fleece to have that kind of money?”