Mind Your Own Magical Beesness
Cursed Chicks Club Novella
A FREE Short Story
Ravena has no idea what kind of sticky mess she’ll end up in when her witchy former mother-in-law, Mildred, insists she stop and buy some honey.
Accompanied by her pal Marco, Ravena embarks on a short (but not so sweet) quest to right another of Mildred’s wrongs that involves a wonky spell, a swarm of angry bees and a new-found appreciation of the hex busting property of huckleberries.
You’d think, with me being all magical and shit, that I could use my powers to master parallel parking. But no.
Magic doesn’t make life nearly as easy as you’d expect.
In my defense, parking Princess, the hideously bright pink RV I’m saddled with traveling in, might very well be part of the curse I’m suffering under.
No magical parking for me. Instead, I’ve got to spend a ridiculous amount of time straining my neck, backing up and pulling forward, straightening out and trying to angle back, and again pulling forward, umpteen times. All while trying to not run anyone over…anyone ELSE over. (I’ve already done that once, but fortunately, he was dead before I ever reached him.)
“Are you sure we need to stop here?” I asked the Siamese cat in the passenger seat. She’s not really a cat, she’s the spirit of my former witchy mother-in-law, Mildred Bloodworth, trapped in feline form.
“Yes,” the cat hissed. “It isn’t my fault you can’t drive.”
“It’s your fault there’s no backup camera,” I snapped. After all, the RV had been hers. Resting my head on the steering wheel, I blinked back tears of frustration that pricked the backs of my eyes. I would not cry over parking in front of Mildred.
“Ravena?” a voice called.
Looking up, I saw a friendly face smiling at me from in front of the RV. Marco, while possessing no magic, had a way of performing impossible tasks. In this case, his presence made me grin back.
“You’re almost there,” he coached. “I’ll help you finish parking.”
Nodding my agreement, I followed his instructions. Soon, Princess was lined up in the parking space. Heaving a sigh of relief, I happily hopped out of the vehicle and slammed the door shut, leaving Mildred behind.
“Cute place,” Marco mused, surveying the shop we were about to enter.
Mind Your Own Beesness had a roof painted to look like a honeycomb and two six-foot-tall metal bee statues flanking the door.
“Mildred says I need to buy honey,” I explained. “That’s why the sudden detour.”
“I have honey,” Marco said in a slightly affronted tone. He pretty much has EVERYTHING in his silver Airstream. “You could have just asked.”
“She said it has to be from here.”
Marco leaned closer and whispered, “Is it magical?”
I shrugged. “She’s not big on sharing details ahead of time.”
A disapproving frown made Marco appear stern. “Wicked witches love their secrets.”
I didn’t point out that he, as a former wizard’s assistant, seemed pretty fond of keeping his own.
Together, we walked toward the shop.
“Ahhh, heavenly,” Marco murmured as the sweet scent of honey wafted through the air. “Honey is a common magical ingredient, you know.”
“I didn’t,” I replied dryly as we drew near the two bee sentries guarding the entryway.
“Oh yes,” Marco said, warming to the subject. “Usually, for what one would think of as positive spells, friendship, love, binding.”
“Maybe Mildred needs it to fix something she’s broken.”
A bearded man stalked out of the shop, hitting the door so hard it bounced on its hinges.
Stopping in my tracks, I stiffened and reached out a hand to stop Marco from moving forward.
“I’ll be back, and you’ll be sorry!” the man shouted over his shoulder.
Marco shot me a nervous look. I gave a small shake of my head, answering his unasked question as to whether the man possessed magic. He most certainly did not.
The angry guy hurled what looked like a cough syrup bottle at the storefront. Since it was made of plastic, it bounced off harmlessly and fell to the ground.
He kicked at it, jammed his hands into his pockets and marched away, muttering under his breath.
We started moving toward the shop again.
“I hate litter,” Marco murmured as he picked up the offending bottle and held it so that I could read the label, which said BEE MINE. “Ahh, probably a love potion.” He opened the door for me, ever the gentleman.
I stepped into the store and blinked against all the yellow.
Honeybees, honey pots, and flowers, all in varying shades of yellow, taking the form of everything from candles to soap to pillows to wind chimes, filled every corner of the store. Not to mention, the shelves were bowed with the weight of hundreds of containers of honey, all bedecked with yellow and black labels and ribbons.
“Buzz off!” a voice yelled.