Chapter 19
Wonder B*tch (Beltane)
Joell stood by the lounge window with her phone pressed to her ear and a towel wrapped loosely around her damp body.
“I know why you’re calling, Bossy McBwana-Face. It’s that time, but I don’t see why we have to move the mansion to Bum-fuck Tennessee. We’ve talked it over and would like to stay on Long Island now that the weather—.”
On a couch across the room, Crowe lifted his head.
As Joell’s familiar, the black cat possessed excellent hearing. Paranormal hearing, actually. Which meant he could eavesdrop on both sides of the conversation without much effort.
“It’s bad enough everyone calls it Bum-Fuck instead of Mount Funk,” Chad said through the phone, irritation clear in his voice. “And you know I don’t like being called Bossy. Why don’t you try using my name, Chad, or my title, Liaison… and with a little respect?”
Joell tried to answer.
“Because,” She stifled a laugh, “it reminds me you think you’re in charge,” she giggled, “and I can’t say it without laughing—HAHAHAHAHAHA!” *snort*
“Do you know how mature you sound?”
“Yeah,” Joell said cheerfully. “But the real question is, do I care?”
The earth began to shake.
Joell froze.
“No! You haven’t even heard me out. We don’t want to move. We like the mansion right where it is on Long Island. We lock up our weapons in Brooklyn anyway and—”
The mansion tore loose from reality with a violent riiiip.
A thunderous thud followed.
Joell ran to the window.
“Crap.”
Crowe leapt up beside her and stared out at the view. The manicured Long Island grounds were gone. Instead, towering trees stretched in every direction. Thick trunks. Twisted branches. Dense forest.
Oh, fantastic. Trees. Not the polite, trimmed Long Island variety either. These are gnarly Appalachian horror-movie trees.
Which meant only one thing. The mansion had moved. Again.
Joell rubbed her face. “Tell me we didn’t just land in Tennessee.”
Crowe’s tail flicked.
Welcome back to Mount Funk.
Joell sighed into the phone. “Look, I know you think this is necessary, but we were doing fine where we were.”
“You weren’t doing fine,” Chad said. “And you know exactly why.”
Joell paced the room, finger-combing her damp brown hair.
“We regulate our cycles with Seasonale,” she said. “Four times a year, remember? That’s manageable. We lock up the weapons. Rayna’s man-pets hold the key. Everything’s under control.”
Crowe watched her pace. Under control. Right. If by ‘under control’ she means ‘PMDD stands for Premenstrual Dangerous Divas,’ then sure.
Joell pinched the bridge of her nose.
“I do what I can to keep everyone stable,” Chad said. “But during that week every third month we lock everything away for a reason. The world is not ready for superpowered witches with PMDD and nearby access to weapons.”
Joell dropped into her tufted chair.
“Anyway, what’s so urgent that you had to move the entire mansion before even talking to us?”
There was a pause.
“Eight people kidnapped from a romance convention,” he said slowly.
“Look, that’s awful, but the answer is still no. I’m not asking the League to work another week of twenty-four sevens.”
Crowe hopped onto her lap.
Good. Stay strong. Say no.
Joell continued, “I even left my fictional couple in the middle of a steamy sex scene. You know we write during our Tennessee vacations—and I use the word ‘vacation’ loosely.”
“You’ll want this assignment as soon as you know what it is,” Chad said, enticingly.
Joell paused. Her brows lifted.
Oh, no. I can’t look. Or hear… I’m turning off my paranormal auditory senses.
“I don’t care how much money he offered—”
Another pause.
Her mouth fell open.
“That much?”
Crowe blinked.
Uh oh. That’s the face she makes when she’s about to cave.
Joell stared at the wall.
“They were male models, huh?”
Crowe froze.
Oh no. We’re doomed.
Joell leaned forward. “Just so I have this straight. You want us to find whoever kidnapped eight muscular men and do it unarmed.”
She looked toward the ceiling. “Let me think about it.”
Crowe bumped the phone with his head.
Hang up.
Say no.
Refuse.
Joell sighed. “Go ahead, Bwana. Tell me what you know so far, and I’ll inform the others.”
Crowe slumped. Damn. I should have given her hand a good, hard, bite.
Joell powered up her laptop and muttered something about slow internet in “Bum-fuck Tennessee” while she waited for the connection.
Crowe jumped onto the arm of the chair beside her.
Teleconference time. This should be interesting.
Joell tapped the red button that connected the mansion with each member of the League.
One by one, their faces appeared on the screen.
The witches looked tired. Not surprising. The League had been running nonstop missions for weeks.
Crowe stretched and settled in.
The League of Amazing Witches—L.A.W.—handled the kind of problems regular law enforcement couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. Like supernatural crimes, Magical disasters, Things that explode for no reason.
Joell leaned back in her chair. “Thanks for picking up so quickly, everyone.”
Just then, the front doorbell rang.
Joell waved a hand lazily.
The door opened on its own.
“Welcome wagon!” Esmerelda called as she stepped inside.
The smell of fresh donuts filled the room.
Crowe’s whiskers twitched.
Chocolate glaze. Cruel fate. Cats can’t eat chocolate.
Esmerelda carried a tray of donuts into the living room.
“Don’t worry, Crowe,” she said. “I brought one for you too.”
She pulled a plain donut from her pocket.
Crowe sniffed it. Well, It’s not chocolate. But I suppose survival requires sacrifice.
He delicately took the donut and hopped onto the arm of Joell’s chair.
Esmerelda leaned over the back of the green velvet chair and noticed the screen filling with witches.
“Well, hi, y’all. Sorry about the intrusion. I thought the mansion landed a bit early. Looks like most of you didn’t make lift-off?”
Joell leaned forward. “Hey, where are you, Magda? I can’t see you on the screen.”
Magda’s voice answered from off-camera.
“That’s because I know you’re calling with an assignment, and I’m not turning on the video unless you promise I won’t have to take this one.”
Joell groaned dramatically. “What? Can’t I call my friends without it meaning work?”
Silence.
Joell sighed. “Fine. Yes, it’s an assignment.”
Magda appeared on the screen a moment later, lounging by a pool, looking smug. “Thought so,” she said.
Joell grinned. “You may change your mind once you hear what it is.”
Victoria leaned closer to her camera. “We’re listening.”
Magda shook her head. “I’m not. I already said I’m off duty.”
Crowe licked donut crumbs from around his mouth. Probably a wise decision.
Joell clasped her hands. “As you know, one of the largest romance conventions in the world is taking place this weekend in Manhattan.”
Victoria tilted her head. “Is that why the assignment was fielded to us? Because we write romance?”
“Partly,” Joell said. “But here’s the real problem.” She leaned closer to the screen. “Eight top male models have been kidnapped.”
The room went silent.
Crowe’s ears perked up.
“It’s our job to get them back,” Joell continued. “All except Magda, apparently. She negotiated early retirement.”
Magda smirked. “Bugger. Male models?” She groaned. “Double bugger.”
Joell laughed.
“Okay, we don’t know who took them or why, but they all have one thing in common.”
“What’s that?” Victoria asked.
“They’re all represented by the same agent.”
“Who?” Sahara asked from her screen.
“Stan Gold.”
Victoria gasped. “These are Gold’s guys?”
Joell nodded. “He’s desperate to get them back before the Model of the Year contest. Apparently, they’re all contenders. And his agency is paying us very well.”
Sahara leaned forward.
“Could this be sabotage by a competing agency?”
“Possibly,” Joell said. “Before we jump to conclusions, I’m going to run a locator spell.”
Sahara nodded. “While you do that, I’ll start digging into the models online. I’m still in Egypt, but I can work remotely.”
“Perfect,” Joell said.
Victoria folded her arms. “What do we know about the models themselves?”
“Only that they’re extremely popular,” Joell said. “Some of them have been on our covers.”
Victoria smiled faintly. “That’s one way to get us onboard.”
Sahara groaned. “I really wish I weren’t in Egypt right now. By the way, why did you relocate to Tennessee early?”
Joell sighed. “I think Chad didn’t trust me to react well. But he never said.”
He didn’t have to. Everyone knows Joell can be volatile, especially when, well, anytime.
“Stand by. I’m heading up to my sacred space to go into trance.”
Crystal leaned toward her camera. “You’re going deep?”
“As deep as I can go,” Joell said. “Hopefully, I’ll get a look at the kidnappers.”
She turned toward another block on the screen.
“Lioness, can you get your sketch pad ready? If I see them, I’ll project the images to you mentally.”
Lioness nodded. “Already on it.”
“Good,” Joell said. “Because if eight models vanished without a trace…” She stood up. “Something weird is going on.”
Crowe jumped down from the chair. Understatement of the year.
Joell grabbed the laptop and headed toward the stairs. Crowe trotted after her. The staircase narrowed as it spiraled upward into the turret, Joell’s sacred space.
As soon as they reached the top, she set the laptop on a small table, and Crowe sat beside her.
All right. Let’s see what kind of trouble we’re about to step into.