Page 11 of Minions and Magic
I exchanged a knowing glance with Babylon. My youngest sister sighed and shrugged.
“What should Babylon and I do?” I asked.
Cassie blinked. “Umm. Maybe you could make a healing potion, just in case? And Babylon can…be ready in case we need an army of undead?”
Babylon and I exchanged another glance. This was such bullshit. True, my healing powers weren’t much when it came to offensive magic, but I had a brain and could still work to investigate stuff at my end. Babylon too. I hated how she was always shuffled off to the side, her magic too icky for any of us to really think of using.
Instead I just nodded, realizing that Cassie was probably right. I didn’t have the sort of magic to take care of this situation. I was in the right place at the right time last night and was able to help Stanley out. I’d prepare potions and do my best to deal with any issue my sisters couldn’t prevent. I guess that was my role in all this.
“There is one more thing.” I looked over at Cassie. “This peace might work out between Dallas and Clinton, but it’s not going to deliver what was negotiated for the lone wolves unless those alphas make it a point of welcoming Stanley and Shelby.”
Sylvie nodded. “I agree. I think there are many werewolves who think the alphas, especially Dallas, didn’t truly mean that part of the negotiation. That might be why Stanley is being attacked.”
“Stanley has agreed to come to the barbeque,” I said. “Even with the risk. I told him we’d protect him, but we need to get Dallas and Clinton to agree to personally welcome both Stanley and Shelby. Alberta, too. I know it will be a hard pill for them to swallow, but just by making a point of greeting them and spending a few moments talking to them, it will prove to both packs that all the terms of the peace treaty are to be abided by.”
Cassie let out a long breath and exchanged a glance with Sylvie. “We’ll work on getting the alphas to agree to that. Ophelia, can you do a divination to give us an idea of what we might encounter at the barbeque? Bronwyn, can you put together some non-violence charms for us to spread around? Adrienne, can you have woodland creatures and insects at the ready in case we need to subdue a werewolf? Glenda, I’d like you to have a few of your smoothies available in case someone is injured. And work your magic in your food so everyone is too busy enjoying the party to bother with any feud they may have.”
I opened my mouth to protest that my magic had nothing to do with my food, only to pause. An image flickered from my memories of a sexy demon, so busy eating my food that he completely forgot about torturing Mr. Allen.
“I’ll do it,” I promised.
“What about me?” Babylon asked.
Cassie frowned. “Um, just be ready to…I don’t know, frighten the werewolves into submission with an army of undead somethings?”
“What kind of dead should I raise? There might not be any fresh animal carcasses nearby. How about the werewolf graveyard? That would freak them out. Or maybe I should bring my own corpses to raise?”
Cassie squirmed. “No, that’s okay. We probably won’t need to raise any dead, but just be ready, okay?”
Babylon slumped, and I felt a bit sorry for her. Yeah, animated dead were really freaky, but it wasn’t her fault she’d been gifted with a magic that made the rest of us uneasy.
“Bring some dead rabbits,” I whispered to her. The werewolves would either chase them, or run away, depending on how fresh they smelled.
My youngest sister smiled at me and lifted her hand for a fist bump. “Got it. You cook and make those horrible smoothies, and I’ll take care of the zombie bunnies.”
Chapter 7
Glenda
Imade a detour on my way home, unable to shake my persistent worry that something else might happen to Stanley. Seeing Bart’s car in the driveway was a relief, but I still parked and headed up to the door, just to make sure all was okay. This was one of the times that it sucked to be a witch with only one magical ability. Healing was great, but when it came to defending someone, protecting someone, or fighting, I was pretty useless.
Bart answered the door and ushered me in. I immediately saw Stanley stretched out on the recliner, a plate of what looked like chicken tenders on his lap and a television remote in his hand. His face paled as he saw me.
“Please tell me you’re not here to make me drink more of that stuff,” he pleaded.
“If I had any more with me, I’d definitely make you drink it.” I looked him over. “Although you look pretty good, Stanley. I’d never know you’d been flattened by a car just last night.”
“It’s my fried catfish,” Bart said. “Makes everything better.”
I eyed what the contents of Stanley’s plate with grudging respect. Fried food wasn’t really my thing, but they did smell darned good.
“Any word from Sheriff Oakes?” I asked the werewolf.
Stanley and Bart exchanged uneasy glances. “No,” Stanley replied. “It’s okay. I didn’t have much to tell him. Might have even imagined the whole thing. My jack probably just broke or something.”
I blinked at shock about the sudden change in his story. Even without any magical spell, I could tell he was lying.
“Stanley, I heard that your car had been tampered with, and that there were rasp marks on your jack. You said you saw someone. It wasn’t your imagination.”
