Waking Up Wicked Read online

  A candle gave off flickers of light, causing weird shadows to dance off the walls and couches. I scanned the room, finally able to see what was going on. My aunt’s garage had long been converted into an office by her late husband. Now, it was apparently a witch’s sex club, complete with a kitchenette and everything.

  My aunt and two of her friends stood around a large black pot on the stove. Flootie, a gray-haired woman with dreadlocks, grabbed the grater and ginger root.

  “Just grate a little right into the pot. Eyeball it at this point,” the dark-haired squatty woman by her side said. I recognized her as my aunt’s other good friend, Helena. “And hurry, the smoke’s starting to settle.”

  They looked over at me when I reached the kitchen area, and I waved, but no one waved back. Helena rolled her eyes while Flootie grated the ginger into the pot.

  My aunt gave me the one-minute sign, and I leaned against the counter, looking around for something to snack on. I’d forgotten to eat more than a lick of peanut butter for breakfast and my stomach was letting me know how it felt about it.

  Three long-stem roses lay across the counter along with the ginger root and a couple small dark jars that I was guessing from the witch sign out front had to be eye of newt. Ginger was my best bet.

  “We’re ready to chant the spell,” Aunt Mabel said, pulling a petal from one of the roses. She was reading from a large book in front of her. “Each of us, one time, one petal, from a separate rose.”

  “Let’s get these petals in there and finish this damn thing up already,” Helena said.

  “Patience,” Flootie reminded her. “Every potion needs to be made with love and patience.”

  “Flames of passion, come in threes to bring true lovers to their knees,” Aunt Mabel said, smiling at me, like I knew what the hell was going on here.

  She tossed a petal into the mixture then stepped aside and nodded to Helena. I moved closer to them. This was my new job, after all.

  The totally legitimate one.

  Helena said the same phrase and tossed another petal into the pot, then Flootie took a turn.

  I shrugged. When in Rome. I pulled a petal off one of the roses and flicked it into the pot. “True lovers be brought to their knees.”

  All three ladies turned their necks so fast in my direction I heard their bones crack.

  “You ruined it,” Helena said to me.

  “Aunt Mabel said it was time for us all to read the spell and put the petals in there,” I replied.

  “It’s only supposed to have three rose petals. Three. Not four or five. Why do you think there are three roses on the counter?”

  “It’s not ruined,” I said, fishing around for one of the petals in the mixture with my pinkie. “Three-second rule on the three petals.” The mixture burned my fingertip and I couldn’t get the petal out because it was circling into the mixture.

  My aunt turned the stove off. “It’s okay. We just have to do it over again.”

  “It was perfect,” Helena said, sighing heavily. “And she ruined it. I don’t know why you hired her. I told you not to.”

  “It was probably already ruined, anyway. We were pretty late on the ginger,” Flootie said.

  “Thank you for reminding me whose fault that was,” Helena said as Flootie gave me a hug.

  Flootie was the nice one of my aunt’s friends who always smelled like mint and coconut oil, but I couldn’t smell anything but incense today. “Welcome aboard the team,” she said. “As you can tell, we have a bit of fun and magic around here.”

  Flootie turned on the light, and my aunt’s face just about fell to the floor when she saw what I was wearing even though her outfit wasn’t much better. She was walking around in 3-inch turquoise stilettos, her thick blonde hair piled high on top of her head like Grandma Barbie.

  “I didn’t know you were witches,” I said, tugging my dress down because all the ladies were staring at it now.

  Aunt Mabel laughed. “We always were. Well, Flootie always was. And… what about you, Helena? You were just a dabbler, huh? Like a fiddler. We’re just more open about it now, that’s all. It’s really freeing. We’re living out our passion in the later part of our lives. So we teamed up to make the Magical Matchmaker Club.”

  “It’s become more acceptable in society to declare yourself a witch. But then, most people mistake Wiccan for Vegan, so that might be it,” Flootie said, kissing my cheek. “It’s good to see you again, Marcie. I’m sorry to hear about your mom.”

  I bit my lip so the menopause tears wouldn’t start. It was almost like I had no control over them now.

  “And don’t worry about the love potion. We were only making extras. We have a plentiful amount in the fridge already. You’ll get the hang of everything,” Flootie added. “Love potions for all different needs, potions that help you focus, that make you sexier…” She jutted her thick hip out so you could see it in the shapeless gray dress she always wore. “Even ones that help you get your ex back…”

  I shook my head no.

  “She’s joking about that one,” my aunt chuckled. “But we do have it all.”

  Helena glared at me. “Just don’t touch anything, though. Especially not any of my stuff. Not my books. Not my apothecary ingredients, not my cauldron.” She pointed to the smaller desk in the middle of the room with a phone and a laptop on it. “Answer the phone. Take appointments. That’s your job. And it’s on a trial basis. Tell her, Mabel.”

  Flootie pulled Helena out the door. “We were just leaving so you two could reconnect and talk about your new job. It was good seeing you again, honey.”

  I glanced around the room as soon as the door closed. “Woo, I see Helena is still a joy to be around.”

  The place looked like a Barbie house had a baby with a timeshare presentation. Hot pink accent pieces were mixed with blown-up photos of hand-in-hand couples that said awful captions like “Let the journey begin.”

  Cabinets were everywhere, each marked with various witchcraft necessities: Potions, Apothecary, grimoires/books… One cabinet had Helena’s name on it along with a skull and crossbones and the words “Spell Protected, Do Not Open.”

  I was very tempted to open it.

  I couldn’t stop looking around, my mouth wide open. I was surprised by how much I didn’t know about my aunt. My mother never mentioned her sister was a witch.

  “This is all so…” I paused, searching for the right words. “Interesting.”

  My aunt put her bony arm around me. “After your mother was diagnosed a couple years ago, I decided life was too short not to live my passion. I’ve spent too many years hiding my true self and I couldn’t do it one second longer. I knew the girls and I could help people. Find love. Find themselves. Find peace in the journey of life. That’s the kind of witchcraft we do here.”

  She pulled a thick packet of papers from off the larger desk and handed it to me. The front page had the same logo as the vinyl sign out front along with the words “The Magical Matchmakers Club.”

  “Look this over,” she said. “It explains everything we do for people and how we can help them.”

  I could tell she was still staring at my dress.

  “I didn’t know what to wear,” I said, smoothing the dress down again. “And Lilly found this in the garage, said it was yours.”

  “I see. When I told you not to come dressed like yourself, you thought you’d show me a thing or two and come dressed like me.”

  “That’s not it at all,” I said, even though it kind of was. “I just thought you couldn’t object if I wore something of yours.”

  “That dress was something I threw out five years ago,” she said. “You wanted to look through the bag before I got rid of it. Remember?”

  I nodded. I remembered that now. “Five years? Wow. I seriously need to clean that garage out.”

  She pushed her lips together. “Stop looking through trash to find your treasures in life. You deserve better. We’ll go shopping after work.”

&n
bsp; I sat down at the desk and thumbed through the packet in front of me.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” she said, kissing my forehead. “And yes, even dressed as awful as you are.”

  “Thanks for giving me a shot,” I said. “Even if it is on a trial basis.”

  “Oh, don’t listen to Helena. My neighbor’s just got all of us rattled. He keeps complaining to the police and the HOA about my place. He’s been telling them I’m running a brothel, a drug house, a sex trafficking ring, whatever. Can you imagine?”

  “The next-door neighbor guy?” I said. “Yeah, I can imagine. Met him on the way in. He called me a hussy.”

  “Yep. That’s Earl. He’s a crazy old man who doesn’t like women in general, but especially not witches.” She smiled as she headed to the door that led to the main part of her house, pointing up at one of the framed posters on the wall. “I think he also hates it that his ex-wife came to me for my matchmaking services, and now she has a new hottie.”

  The poster was of a smiling middle-aged man and woman in a garden somewhere. They were both so perfect their photo looked like it came with the frame. The caption said, “October Success Story: Judith and Dirk.”

  She grabbed the knob to the door that led to the main part of her house. “You’ll meet them later. They’re our first success story. Each month we’re gonna have one of those. Maybe it’ll be you one month.” She laughed, which sounded more like a cackle (something I hadn’t noticed before), and went inside.

  And I skimmed through the packet, more eager than ever to see how we got Earl’s wife that hottie, not that I was interested in love. Far from it. But I wouldn’t mind Mark seeing me with a new hottie. I reminded myself that vengeance on my ex was not a good reason to start dating hotties. It was only a good reason to sell used baseball cards for cheap.

  The packet wasn’t as interesting as I thought it’d be. It was mostly full of boring, standard “business stuff” like a mission and purpose statement, services offered, the money-back guarantee, and strategies for dealing with difficult customers like Wilma Derrington and Dakota Ramone. A very specific section.

  This business was way too legitimate for me.

  There was even a sample phone script to say when talking with clients that I could not picture myself saying.

  Hello and welcome to Magical Matchmaking where you can put your trust in the forces of the universe, and your heart in a witch’s hands.

  The strangest part was the list of proprietary “finders” potions all members had to consume before a date, to make sure they were open to the universe’s forces.

  The door opened and a short older lady of about 70 with jet black hair and a tight black dress waddled over to my desk. Her blood red lips were pursed into a scowl.

  I gulped. My first customer, and my aunt was nowhere to be found.

  “Where’s Mabel?” she said.

  “She just went inside for a moment. I can go get her if you’d like.”

  “The only thing I’d like is to get my money back. All five hundred, forty-six dollars and eighty two cents,” she said.

  “Let me just get my aunt.” I stood up. “What did you say your name was?”

  The woman stared at my dress and I felt my face go red with embarrassment.

  “You work here?” she asked.

  “I’m new. I’m her niece Marcie Nester, I mean Marcie Henderson.” I kicked myself for reverting to my married name.

  “Nice dress,” she said, winking. “Who says we’re too old to try to look hot?”

  “That’s right,” I said even though we were nowhere near the same age. I thumbed to the packet’s table of contents to see if there was anything about dealing with refunds. Then, I remembered the difficult customers’ portion.

  “Who did you say you were?” I asked.

  “Name’s Wilma Derrington, and I’m tired of it. I’ve gone through five different men, three different finder’s potions, and had my cards read twice. So far, nothing.” She harrumphed at the end. “I’m too old to wait for the universe to make decisions.”

  At the very top of the page in the difficult customer’s section, in bold red lettering, it said, “Whatever you do, do not give either woman a refund. They ask for one every week.”

  I decided to use one of the strategies.

  “I take it the last date did not go well,” I said, reading off the page.

  “He wasn’t open to the forces of the universe. He was only open to a booty call.”

  I tried to keep my expression steady. “I’m new here, so let me see what my training packet says about this.”

  Wilma slammed a veiny hand on my desk. “It says give me my money back. You have a money-back guarantee, don’t you? Doesn’t mean much if you don’t stand by it.”

  She leaned over my desk now, and I threw my body over the handbook, trying to make sure she couldn’t see the page I was on.

  “Wait a second. Does that page say How to deal with Wilma Derrington?” Her lips pushed together even tighter, creating little lines along the sides of her mouth.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.

  She stared at me, her eyes were beady and dark. I could tell she was trying to intimidate me. I stared back, even though every part of me wanted to scoop up the handbook and run screaming into the house to track down my aunt.

  “Who’s hungry?” a familiar voice said, interrupting our staring contest. We both turned toward the front door where my aunt’s long-time friend, George, was fumbling his way in with a large pink box of donuts. I quickly closed the handbook, snatched it up into the crux of my underarm and hugged him “hello.”

  “Wilma Derrington, you are not in here again asking for a refund, are you?” George said. “Shame on you. You like dating more than I like donuts, and we all know how much I like donuts.”

  “I like donuts too,” she said, grabbing the pink box from George’s hands. “Is this Lu Lu’s Bakery?”

  “Of course. When I heard Marcie was starting today, I said, ‘I’m going to bring her her favorite in case she has to deal with that awful Wilma Derrington.’”

  Wilma scowled at him but grabbed a large apple fritter about the size of her face from out of the box. “When you see Mabel, tell her I’m giving this dating club one last chance.”

  “Oh, that’s what you say every week,” George said.

  As soon as Wilma left, I kissed George’s cheek. “Thank you, George. I didn’t have a chance to read the page about her yet. And she almost caught me reading it in front of her.”

  He didn’t say anything. His steel gray eyes focused solely on my dress. I pulled my skirt down a little, turning toward the box that was now sitting on the nearby coffee table. My stomach rumbled again when I smelled chocolate mixed with sweet glaze mixed with totally fried-goodness.

  My aunt came back into the garage carrying a plastic knife, just in time to see George staring at my dress.

  “Yes,” she said to George, as she cut a jelly donut in half and took the smaller half, “that is the dress I wore once, five years ago, and threw away. I told Marcie to dress differently, and apparently that meant pick something from the trash.”

  Flakes of glaze fell off my donut when I bit into it, falling all over my dress. George handed me a napkin. Every Barbie needed her Ken, and George was my Aunt Mabel’s, if Ken was a graying, distinguished 60-year-old local actor.

  They became best friends when my aunt married his brother, Chris, about 35 years ago. Her second husband. She claimed George was the one good thing to come from that evil marriage.

  Watching me spill all over myself, my aunt finally said, “We’re going shopping after work.”

  George sucked in a gasp. “Great idea. I’ll come too. Poor thing deserves a trip out. She just had to deal with Wilma Derrington.”

  “At least she liked my dress,” I said.

  Somehow, this made my aunt shake her head sadly. “Just try to hide behind the desk today. Answer phones, hand out questi
onnaires, take credit cards, and read up on the business. But whatever you do, don’t let anyone see that dress. And did you park in my driveway?”

  “Yes,” I said, dreading what was coming next.

  “Go move it. You’ll have to park at least a block away from now on. I can’t have my high-end clients seeing you drive away in a wrecked-up, dirty car.”

  I stomped over to the door like a teenager asked to unload the dishwasher.

  Unbelievable. The woman with the huge vinyl sign above her garage and the witchy love potion brewing in the office was worried my minivan might give off the wrong vibe. Okay, so it had a few dents and I never bothered to wash it…

  “And don’t talk to Earl if you see him.”

  “Is he still giving you a hard time with the homeowner’s association?” George asked. “I talked to my brother about him for you.”

  “You did not,” my aunt said, hands on her hips, mouth twisted.

  “He’s the only lawyer I know.”

  I stopped at the door. I had to hear this. My aunt hated George’s brother. Their marriage had ended terribly. He was her Mark.

  My aunt’s fingers mindlessly reached for her long dangly necklaces. “I should just have cooked up a death spell for Earl when I had a chance. All I need are a few hairs…”

  “Stop,” George said. “Marcie’ll think you’re serious.”

  “I am serious,” Aunt Mabel said.

  “She’s not serious,” George mouthed to me. He continued. “And I’m afraid I was right. You’re gonna have to take down the sign and limit your clients to two or three a day, max.”

  She tugged furiously at her necklaces. “Two or three max? That is really gonna hurt my business.”

  “And stop calling it a business,” George interrupted. “This is a club. You have a home owner’s association. Keep things quiet.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I have a plan for keeping things quiet.”

  “It better not involve a few of Earl’s hairs,” George said.

  Chapter 3

  Clubs