Page 84 of Which Witch is Willing?
Dead menall,if she had anything to say about it.
“I getiratewhen Tierra laces my coffee with some peat moss tasting herbs for my health,” she seethed. “I getmadwhen a shit-eating she-Satan wears my body like a meat suit and tosses me into the darkest corners of my own psyche. Butthis!”
She thrust the abomination forward for all of them to behold.
“There are no words for the rage. There have not been languages evolved upon this goddess-forsaken earth to encompass thewrathI am about to unleash…if…”
She could not finish the sentence. Words escaped her brain like scattered marbles. Her throat closed off.
Oh Goddess. It wasn’t a cliché. You couldactuallybe choked by rage.
Claire released the final perfect ringlet from the curling iron so Moira could turn to observe the carnage cradled in Aerin’s hands.
Heavy boots announced the arrival of the cadre of men into the women-only gazebo without a by-your-leave. Of course, they went ahead and fucking barged in and made themselves at home. Because that was just the kind of primeval, barbaric, insolent ass clowns they were.
“Just what thehellhave you four gone and done?” Moira demanded in a deceptively even voice.
“’T’wern’t nothing, Moira Jo,” hee-hawed a hillbilly from behind her. “All’s I did was cut the heels of them alligator shoes so she wouldn’t fall off ‘em they’s so high. She might sprain one of her delicate ankles.” The cretin in question pulled up alongside Aerin, looking down at her ankle as if he might start gnawing on it at any moment.
If looks could wither a man, Aerin tried her best. “These shoes are Alexander McQueen alligator sling backs. They cost me eight hundred dollars onsale.”
Even though the man had showered that very morning at the mansion, he still somehow managed to have a pall of engine grease on him. He went beet red. Then purple as he gawked up at her in open-mouthed astonishment.
Aerin counted two missing teeth before he regained his wits enough to talk.
“See now, this is why you need me,” he said wagging a stumpy a finger at her. “I got all sortsa colors of gator skins back home. I think I even have some cobbler’s nails somewhere.” He tugged on his ear as if that could help him remember. “I coulda made you them shoes fer a fiver.” He eyed her thoroughly. “Question unrelated to said nails: Is yer tetanus shot up to date? Nah, you don't have to answer. Classy gal like you, course you come vaccinated.” He reached out to pat her arm approvingly, but Aerin shrunk away. “We'll talk about that later, on account of the government nano bot tracers y’all have swimming in yer blood now, though I suppose what with the apocalypse and everything that’s sort of a non-issue—”
“Moira,” Aerin clipped, feeling on the verge of a meltdown that would make Katrina seem like a spring breeze. “Your uncles Stinky, Salty, and Surly need to go back to their boat—”
“That’s Sal, Mookey, Red, and Little Earl.” Moira pointed to them in the line, identifying the shoe murderer as Mookey.
“I don’t fucking care what their names are, Moira,” Aerin exploded. “You tell them to keep their fucking hands off my shit before I—.”
“Aww, don’t be too sore at ‘em,” Moira said, hiding a smile behind her hand. “He was just trying to help. Besides, I think they got them a crush.”
Didn’t she fucking know it? They’d been her constant weird shadows since they’d decided to take up residence at the Manse yesterday in preparation for the wedding.
Tierra paused in her pacing to glance at Moira. “Don’t you think it’s a bit creepy, them being sweet on Aerin, seeing as how she looks exactly like you?”
From somewhere behind her, Red snorted, horked, and spat his disagreement. “Y’all don’t look a thing alike. She has class where Moira’s got sass. And she’s taller, for one.”
No she isn’t,” Tierra argued. “She’s just usually in three-inch heels.”
“Well, not the fuck anymore,” Aerin bitched, waving the remnants of her beautiful, beautiful pumps.
“She has purty silver eyes and skin ain’t seen the sun like you, Moira,” Red chimed in. “And her mouth has these…regal lines at the corners where they turn down on account of her scowlin’ all the time.”
“You take that back!” Aerin bent down to check the mirror for frown lines.
“And,” Mooky decided to add. “She smells like that one time Pervus Mcfee tried to ferment all that vanilla moonshine in the cedar chest. Juss look at ‘er,” he held his hands one high and one low to frame her silver-blue Zuahir Murad slip gown and gauzy wrap. “She dresses real el-gant.”
“Elegant?” Claire supplied helpfully.
“Glad y’all agree.”
“Also,” Red cut in, “Her tits are way up here.” He hefted imaginary breasts past the “I got crabs at Boudreau’s Fat Boy” slogan on what must have been his Sunday-best tank top.
“That’s due to the gravity defying efforts of a very secretive Victoria,” Claire snarked, biting the inside of her cheek to contain her giggles. “And Moira’s lack of one.”
