The Weird Girls - Chapter One
Chapter One
The Weird
Girls
The music pounded hard enough to shake Emme’s fuzzy navel,
the umbrella in Shayna’s piña colada, Taran’s martini, and my Corona
Two years had passed since we’d left our native New Jersey Lake Tahoe
region when our agency transferred us to a local hospital on temporary
assignment. We’d thought it would be fun to check out the area. We hadn’t
expected to fall in love with the lush forests, the breathtaking mountains, or
the mysticism of the lake. But we had, and collectively agreed to make it our
home sweet home.
Shayna raised her girly drink; her blue eyes and grin
sparkled despite the dimness in the booth. “To the Wird Girls finding an
awesome place to live,” she hiccupped.
“To a thirty-year mortgage and a shitload of remodeling,”
Taran muttered. She tried to complain, but couldn’t hide that siren grin that
made males trip over their erections. She was happy to settle down, and she
damn well knew it.
“To beautiful Lake Tahoe ,”
Emme added almost silently. She blushed when I glanced her way. I’d like to say
she was just tipsy, but no. Emme blushed as easily as the wind blew fireflies.
“W-well it is beautiful here, Celia.”
“I know, sweetie.” I tapped my bottle against her frou-frou
drink. “Salud.”
I polished off my beer. It was my sixth round, still no
buzz. Then again I could chug a keg. Alcohol had no effect on me. My
lightweight sisters slurred their words after three. In their defense, they
didn’t have an inner beast with the metabolism of four linebackers to help them
out. The waitress rushed over and slapped another Corona
“Oh my goodness,” Emme said. “You didn’t even peek her way
or anything.”
My sisters had definitely received the less-daunting side
of our backfired curse. I pushed my long hair from my face and shrugged. After
years of being feared, I was almost used to it. Almost. “I don’t think tigers
have to necessarily look at their prey to scare them.”
Emme placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. The jarring club
lights further lightened her fair skin and blond hair and bleached out most of
her freckles. “It’s not you, Celia. It’s these silly humans who never want to
give you a chance. You’re beautiful. And so is your
inner golden tigress.”
Taran rolled her huge blue eyes. “Tigers are
beautiful, Emme. But most people aren’t stupid enough to pet one.” She sipped
her martini as she gave me the once-over. “Or piss one off.”
Or date one, I thought to myself,
taking in the frat boys on spring break continuing to stare and whisper about
my sisters.
“Adriana Lima is mine,” one said of Taran.
“I’ll take the blonde,” the other murmured.
“I’ll go with the cute brunette with the ponytail.”
“Hey, I called dibs on her first,” his friend complained.
There were four of them. Four of us. One of the guys
fighting over Shayna had taken an interest in me. That is, until he looked at
me. Really looked at me. He smiled, but his scent of
anticipation and lust quickly evaporated, replaced by the aroma of fear. He’d
seen beyond my green eyes, olive skin, and long wavy hair to spot the predator
lurking within. He saw her ready to pounce, ready to shred, ready to kill.
Beautiful or not, tigers had that effect on humans.
Taran shimmied out of the booth. An impressive feat in the
tiny, curve-hugging yellow dress she wore. If the hem lay an inch shorter,
she’d end up on the Internet. “Shit. I have to pee.”
Shayna grinned at Taran as she ambled out, her eyes
alternating from sparkly to glassy. So not a good sign. “I think that’s an
oxymoron, dude.” She threw in a giggle, just to further clarify she was
snockered.
I shook my head. Emme smiled softly. “I’ll go with Taran.”
Emme was only five feet tall, and just shy of a hundred pounds soaking wet and
bloated. Taran, although only three inches taller, towered over her in those
stepladders she affectionately referred to as “shoes.” Me? Nothing said comfy
like jeans, Uggs, and a long-sleeved tee.
The minute they disappeared into the hall leading to the
ladies room, one of the good ol’ frat boys approached Shayna, careful to avoid
eye contact with me. “Hey, hot stuff. How about a dance?”
Shayna’s glee faded when she realized I’d be alone if she
went to dance. I smiled as best I could without scaring her potential date for
the evening. “It’s okay. I’ll just hang and wait for Emme. Go on,” I urged when
she hesitated.
The guy snaked his arm around Shayna and led her onto the
dance floor. Her sleek black ponytail whipped behind her as she shot me one
more tentative glance. She watched me for a while. At first I thought she might
return to hang with her spinster-in-the-making sister until the call of Beyoncé
loosened the hesitant muscles of her slender frame. It didn’t take long for
Shayna to move like the world’s happiness depended on her booty shakes. It did,
however, take a hell of a long time for Emme and Taran to return from the
bathroom. The waitress dropped my eighth beer down just as I spotted Emme’s
hands waving madly amidst the crowd forming near the ladies’ room. “Celia!
Ceeeeeelia!”
What the hell?
I slipped out of the booth and rushed toward the crowd. The
throng of horny and drunken patrons parted as I stalked, my hips swinging like
a predator staking out her turf. That’s right. Stay back.
Scary female approaching.
As I reached Emme, a deep buzzing sound vibrated from the
bathroom, followed by a high-pitched squeal, topped off by Taran’s oh-so
colorful language. I half-groaned, half-growled. Crap. How
much trouble can someone get into in the bathroom?
I froze. Apparently a lot.
A fiery redhead stomped out of the restroom smelling like
burnt toast, sporting a spiky new hairdo most porcupines would envy. I swore
under my breath. Taran must have struck her with a mini-bolt of lightning. Her
tresses stood out like wires, and the singed tips smoked. And God only knew
what Taran had done to the rest of her dress. Scorched pieces of fabric barely
covered Red’s pricey and fricasseed bra.
Her crazed eyes scanned the crowd. “Who’s with the slutty
brunette?”
Emme glanced my way before raising a cautious hand.
“Sh-sh-she’s my sister.”
The redhead stormed to Emme and jabbed an irate finger in
her face. “Your sister’s a bitch.”
Maybe. But Emme certainly wasn’t. I shoved my way between
them. “Leave her alone, and get out of our way.” My raspy voice remained
deceptively calm. Yet Red easily picked up on my underlying threat: Mess with
her, mess with me.
Red’s finger slowly lowered and her jaw slackened. She
stumbled back, tripping over her feet and shoving her way through the crowd and
out the exit. The ladies in line quickly followed suit and gave us ample room
to pass. Perhaps there was a nice fir tree they could use out back. Emme stayed
close to my heels as I shoved opened the door to the bathroom, her meek little
voice shaking. “Should I get Shayna?”
“No, I think―”
My first clue should have been that Taran’s swear words had
stopped bouncing off the stark white tiles like ping-pong balls. My second? The
waft of dry herbs that filtered into my nose and screamed a warning. Witch. Witch magic. Taran was going
head-to-head with an official worship-the-earth-talisman-wearing-broom-humper
extraordinaire.
Taran’s blue irises blanched to crystal from the gamut of
power tingling around a sandy-haired witch’s aura. “Sandy
“Silentio. Non vide,” Sandy
Knowing Spanish helped me translate the Latin words. Silence and . . . don’t look?
Every muscle and tendon in my body tightened. She’d cast a
spell to conceal any sounds and images from the club patrons. Jesus,
what did she plan to do?
The aroma of crushed thyme thickened the air as her spell
accelerated, coating my taste buds with a hint of her power. Yup, definitely
not a good sign. My inner tigress circled restlessly, pawing at my ribcage with
her claws, demanding out. “Taran,” I warned, “time to go home.”
Taran met the witch’s smile with one that sent Emme
running, hopefully to get Shayna, the car, or both. The heavy door swung shut
behind Emme. A loud click told me Sandy Sparks
“Taran,” I warned again. My fangs
protruded without my consent. Another sign proclaiming deep shittiness awaited.
The sparks magnified into mini bolts of lightning as Taran
stretched out her fingers. A small funnel of wind gathered around Sandy
“Taran!”
I tackled Taran into the handicapped stall as the equivalent
of a supernatural cherry bomb took out the wall instead of my sister. The hole,
roughly the size of our new dining room table, gave a great view of the dance
floor where Shayna continued to shake her tiny, yet obviously shimmy-able butt.
The crowd of onlookers had returned to their drunken debauchery, swallowing
poor Emme as she jumped up and down trying futilely to get Mini-Shakira’s
attention. It might have been funny, had I not feared we were finally about to
die that miserable death we’d spent a lifetime avoiding.
Taran rubbed her head. “Son of a bitch.”
A deep growl thundered in my chest. My tigress’ eyes
replaced my own and locked on the witch’s feet. She casually walked across the
checkered floor, her red stilettos clicking like the pendulum of a grandfather
clock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.
She reeled into the black stall where we lay. Time was up.
For her.
“Well, well―”
I kicked the door right in her face.
She flew backwards into the sink and smashed her head into
the mirror. Sometimes, I couldn’t control my strength. Fear of dying in a
public bathroom will do that to a gal. I hauled Taran up by her elbow while her
latest fan seemed down for the count. The cracks in the mirror spiderwebbed
from her bleeding skull. I secretly hoped that since it was technically her
head that broke the mirror, the bad luck fell on her.
When Sandy
Taran gathered her power once more. “I’ll take the bitch at
the door. You take the bitch at the sink.”
Sandy―both of them―surprised me by laughing. “Mures,” they both spat.
That one pretty much got lost in translation. I prowled
toward her. My claws shot from my fingers like bullets from a chamber. She
didn’t move. She didn’t gather her magic. She didn’t blink. She simply laughed.
Either she’d hit her head a little too hard or she didn’t fear us. The latter
scared the hell out of me. My beast remained sure we could take her. My human
half knew something sinister lurked beneath, bubbling with a touch of dark and
a spoonful of evil.
A transparent heaviness filled the air, reeking of garbage
and festering meat. The ten plastic soap dispensers lining the wall of the
mammoth counter exploded one by one, like a row of bottles being shot to bits.
Paper towels fluttered in the air around us like birds. The pipes beneath us
clanged and a toilet flushed for no reason.
I hated when my human side was right.
I heard the first squeak and the scratch of tiny clawed
feet followed by a few more. A lot more. Taran heard it, too. In her panic, she
blasted a bolt of lightning into her psycho witch, taking out the obviously
evil tampon dispenser in the far wall. Chunks of cardboard and cotton pelted me
in the hair and back, and still I heard the squeaks getting louder, getting
closer, getting scurrier.
The Sandy
The large brass drain near the sinks began to stir. “Taran.
We need to get out of here.”
“Damn it, Celia―”
I clutched her arm when the brass drain tipped and a pink
whiskered nose poked through. Mures. . . . Rats.
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