Chapter 17
“Crétin! Idiot! Imbécile!” Victoria shouted. “I don’t have the patience needed to deal with incompédent de marde!”
“Mademoiselle De La Fontaine, calm down!”
“Calm down? Calm down? You lost my dress. It’s worth more than this entire pitiful dry-cleaning establishment!”
“What’s going on out here?” The owner’s husband stormed out to the front of the shop.
Victoria rarely saw him, but she knew he was there. She knew a lot of things, especially when wearing her magical designer clothing! “I can’t believe you lost the dress that was passed down to me from my great-grandmother!”
“Let me look for it,” he offered. “Can you describe it?”
“It’s from the nineteen-twenties—a certified antique. It’s blue with gold braid at the neckline and has a drop-waist that ends in blue marabou feathers at the hem.”
“Okay, what length?”
She glanced down at her leg and pointed to where the hem usually rested.
It was a few inches above her ankle. Positively scandalous at the time.
But her great-grandmother was an unconventional person and a very talented witch.
She showed Victoria’s grandmother how to cast magical spells into cloth, and her grandmother showed her mother, and her mother showed Victoria.
Unfortunately, it was labor-intensive, and she wasn’t paying close attention at the age of nine.
In other words, the dress couldn’t be replicated.
Victoria was going to try to reverse-engineer it and maybe streamline the spell in the process, but now she couldn’t even do that.
The dry cleaner’s husband strolled off and searched through the dresses on the farthest rack.
That’s why Victoria always brought— correction, used to bring her clothing here. They kept all valuable items far from the front counter, and the Long Island ladies had some pricey designer dresses.
When he didn’t find it there, he started looking through the regular clothing racks.
She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at the wife. At least her husband was trying to look for it. She just went to the racks marked with a capital D, L, and F, and gave up.
“I thought you held respect for the valuable garments.”
“If your garments are so fancy, perhaps you should have a servant hand-wash them.”
Victoria straightened her posture. Is she trying to insult me? No, she’s probably just jealous. After all, I’m tall, slim, rich, and beautiful. She’s short, stocky, and probably missing some brain cells because of the heavy chemicals she inhales all day.
But in case that was an insult, Victoria turned her back to the little onion-scented peon and tipped her nose in the air. She hoped she’d realize how little she thought of her and her insult. I can insult people without even saying a word. After all, I’m French.
Suddenly, Victoria felt her body undulating. Beneath her skin, an odd trembling began. It felt as if ripples of ocean waves were crashing against her insides. Something let go, and she felt herself leave her body and flow across the counter into the body of the dry cleaner’s wife.
The same thing must have been happening the other way, because when Victoria looked out of the eyes she had now, her image across the counter cackled and said, “See how you like it, Madam or Mademoiselle. I think I'll see how you live.”
Victoria watched her body sashay toward the front door of the dry-cleaning establishment, but before the woman—in her body—got very far, Victoria called out, “Hey, leave my purse, or I'll sue your pants off.”
The woman threw her head back and laughed. Then she pointed to Victoria and said, “You mean those pants?”
Victoria looked down at her squat body and saw sweatpants with a stain on the thigh that matched another stain on the bottom of her sweatshirt. “Mon Dieu!”
The woman in Victoria's body scanned the parking lot and asked, “Which car is yours?”
It was Victoria's turn to laugh. “I flew here in a helicopter. Good luck getting that off the ground.”
The woman shrugged and said, “That's fine. I know where the Hide-a-Key is for our junk heap that my husband calls a car. I'll just take off in that.”
“Wait!” Victoria called out. “What about your husband?”
The woman snorted and said, “You can have him.”
Victoria glanced over her shoulder in horror. She tried to vault the counter to stop the woman. Something she’d have been able to do easily with her long, lithe legs, but her short legs hit the counter, and a moment later her back hit the floor. She was still behind the counter, gasping for air.
The bell over the door jingled. When Victoria struggled to her feet, she saw the body-thief saunter off to the side of the building, presumably to put Victoria's body into some kind of dilapidated car from the previous century.
Victoria dropped her head and put her hands over her eyes. “I cannot believe this.”
The dry cleaner’s husband came down the aisle and looked at her quizzically. “Where did the customer go, Rosa?”
“What do you mean? I am the customer!”
He chuckled. “Oh, Rosa. You're always joking. But this isn't funny. I'm sure that bitch will sue us for losing her dress.”
“And she would be well within her rights to do so! Where's the bathroom?”
The husband’s brows knit in confusion. “What do you mean? It's where it's always been.” He pointed to the back right-hand corner of the building.
Victoria stomped off to the area he indicated and found a half-bath with just a toilet and sink.
But at least there was a mirror. She didn't know whether to be grateful for that item or horrified.
When she looked into the mirror, she saw, not her beautiful face and tall athletic body, but the grizzled face of a sixty-something-year-old, dumpy woman with short gray hair and dead-looking eyes staring back at her. She let out an ear-piercing scream.
The husband came running. “Rosa, what's wrong?”
Victoria doubled over in shock. She was breathing hard but didn’t allow her knees to buckle.
“What's wrong?” he asked again. “Do you need me to take you to the hospital?”
She shook her head. She doubted he had a car to take her anywhere anymore. “I need to get to the L.A.W.”
He looked surprised and asked, “The law? You want me to take you to the police station?”
“No, imbécile. I need to go to the L.A.W. It's an organization I belong to. It’s usually here on Long Island, but they just moved it to Tennessee.”
“An organization? Why don't I know about this?”
“Because, idiot, I'm not your wife! She switched bodies with me. She ran off with my designer purse, my passport, my phone, my keys to the helicopter, my driver's license, credit cards, everything. In other words, she has committed grand larceny, and she won’t get away with this!”
The man leaned back and folded his arms. “This isn't funny, Rosa. You're not acting like yourself.”
“That's what I'm telling you! I am not myself, or at least I am not Rosa. I am Victoria De La Fontaine. She switched bodies with me. I don't know how she did it, but my friends at the L.A.W—L-period A-period W-period—will be able to help. Now I just need to get to Tennessee, somehow.”
The man threw his hands in the air and stomped off. “I need a cigarette.” After he lit it, he said, “Don't talk to me until you can make sense. I don't have time for your games.”
Victoria heaved a great sigh. “Where is your phone?”
He stared at her hard but didn't answer.
“Fine. I'll look around and find it myself.”
Victoria stormed out to the front of the store and found a landline telephone under the counter. She muttered to herself, “I hope I can remember the number of the mansion. I usually just hit the red button, and everyone responds. Now I have to actually dial the old-fashioned way.”
She scrunched up her face, trying to remember the numbers that would get her to the mansion.
It wasn't listed in the phone book, not that she had seen one of those for a while.
But if she couldn't remember the mansion's number, maybe she could remember one of her colleagues. Um… Nope. She hadn’t memorized any of their numbers.
She was so frustrated that she leaned over the counter and hit her head on it several times.
“I have no credit cards, no cash, no phone, and no car. How the hell am I supposed to get to Tennessee?” she asked herself.
Sighing heavily, she tried to come up with a plan. She had no family in the U.S.A. to call upon, and even if she did, she had no way to contact them without phone numbers. She thought carefully, trying to come up with some way to get to Tennessee.
Suddenly, an idea hit her. She had a friend—well, sort of a friend.
Raoul was a L.A.W. employee. He lived over the 3-car garage, which didn’t travel when the mansion did.
They didn’t need cars in Tennessee. They only stayed there for a week during—ahem—that time.
The eight women of The League of Amazing Witches had coordinated their cycles with Seasonale.
The remote mountain location kept everyone safe from their Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder (PMDD). Ye olde PMS.
They also celebrated most of the sabbats there, and Samhain was the next one… the most important one. It was a time to honor one’s ancestors and the final harvest. That dry cleaner better be prepared to reap what she’d sown.
Victoria didn’t have a car, didn’t have cash, and didn’t have a body she trusted, but she did have one semi-reliable option. Raoul, the pool boy.
She set off on foot. By the time she reached his place, her legs ached, her temper simmered, and she was one complaint away from yelling at the mailbox. She knocked anyway. Hard.
Raoul opened the door, took one look at her, and blinked. “Rosa? I don’t think I have any dry-cleaning to pick up this week.”
“Wrong witch,” she snapped. “Long story. Let me in.”
He did. She talked fast. Body swap, stolen life, dry cleaner from hell.
To his credit, he didn’t laugh.
“Okay,” he said when she finished. “Okay… Wow. I mean—Wow! Yeah, I believe you.”
Relief hit so hard her knees almost buckled. “Merci. I knew you had a brain hiding in there.”
“I try not to advertise it.” He grabbed a set of keys. “I’ll lend you a car—”
He stopped mid-step.
“… Actually, no, I won’t. Not mine to lend. The L.A.W. owns those.”
She stared at him. “You’re kidding.”
“I like being employed,” he said. “But I’ll drive you to the bus station. Easier. Cleaner. No explaining later, no one yelling at me, no magical audits.”
She exhaled slowly. “Fine. I accept your cowardice.”
“I prefer ‘self-preservation.’ Come on.”
One problem down. Next problem: money.
“Bus tickets aren’t free,” she muttered as she climbed into the passenger seat. “I would travel by limo if I had my credit card.”
Raoul held up his phone like a holy relic. “Good news. You can call your witchy cavalry.”
Her entire face lit up. “You have the mansion’s number?”
“Of course I do. I’m not completely useless.”
She snatched the phone. “Thanks be to the Goddess!”
If anyone could fix this, or at least bankroll her journey, it was her L.A.W. sisterhood.
When she reached the L.A.W. mansion by phone, Sahara answered and listened to the whole tale. “Wait. She took your purse?”
“She took my everything! Someone stole my whole identity… including my Pilates body!”
“Oh, my Goddess! Let me confer with the others, and I’ll text you the details. Don’t worry, hon. We’ve got you.”
In less than five minutes, Sahara had arranged to loan Victoria enough money to buy the bus ticket, meals, and replace her phone. They would send it via Western Union, and she’d ask Raoul to stop on the way.
When she had the phone and the money, she was relieved—sort of—and ready to start her journey. She and Raoul drove to the bus station, determined to get her to Tennessee. She had to wait until the next day for the bus, but she had enough money to pay for the night in a Brookhaven B&B.
“Would you like me to stay with you?” Raoul offered. He waggled his eyebrows.
“As tempting as that is, I cannot look at this body.”
“Then simply look at mine,” he joked.
She smiled sadly and shook her head.
Victoria wondered about his willingness to believe her story, since she was in an entirely different body. Before he drove away, she asked him why he hadn’t doubted her.
He laughed. “After the things I’ve seen working for the L.A.W. over the last ten years, there’s nothing any of you can do that would shock me.”