More Fiction!

Toby loaded the last of the boxes in the truck and wiped his hands on his jeans. "All set!"

The older man who watched him shook his head and leaned on the porch rail. "You could just send 'em. That's why God made UPS."

"But this way it's an adventure!" He grinned and for a moment was surprised by his own smile.

"And you get away from that woman."

"I could never fool you, Dad." Toby climbed the porch steps two at a time and enveloped his adoptive father in a hug. With some gentle but manly thumping on the back, of course.

"She ain't that bad, Son. You gotta settle sometime. And once I get better, I'll go back to helping you with the business."

Now Toby's smile faltered. He and his mom had talked to the doctors that week, and he knew it didn't look good. They wouldn't tell Tom, but the tumor in his brain hadn't responded to the chemo and radiation like they'd hoped. But the old man kept his spirits up by not listening to them even though he complied with their instructions. Never mind that he was almost blind.

"Bunch o' fools," he muttered like he could tell what his son was thinking. "Now go. Those cookies ain't gonna last forever, and your mother'll have a fit if those linens she stitched for your cousin aren't there in time for the rehearsal dinner. You know she's already upset about missing her sister's only daughter's wedding."

"All right, all right, I'm off!" And with another gentle – but still very manly – pat on the back, he was.


Lydia shook her head. "There's no point in going into all of this again, Amber!"

Her friend put her hands on her hips. "Sarah Lydia Rockfort Smithson Webber!"

Tiffany raised her eyebrows. "That's a lot of last names!"

"And that's not even all of them." Lydia sat and put her head in her hands. "Look, can't we just drop it! It's going to be different this time."

Tiffany sat beside the bride and put a hand on her shoulder. She sensed the girl's hesitation. "What's going to make it different?"

"Why do you want to know?" This was no longer the girl who had gleefully chopped the end off her man-cake earlier. She narrowed her blue eyes and set her jaw, and Tiffany could see the determination and the grief the girl had endured. No, this was a young woman who had suffered more than she should have.

"She can help you, Lydia!" Now Amber pleaded. "Please, at least try!"

"There's no point. I'm cursed. We've only heard about happy marriages that make it through the first night."

"Tell me about the curse," Tiffany said, but she couldn't help a little smile that the rumor was doing its work. "Happy Brides go to the Bride's Best Friend for their bachelorette parties!" had been her slogan, and the part about her brides always having happy marriages? Well, she couldn't help it if good marketing, careful selection of her first clientele, and a little magic had all worked together.

"Something always happens to my husband on the wedding night," Lydia whispered.

Now Tiffany felt the chill return. "Like what?"

Amber came to stand behind Lydia. "It's always an accident," she said. "There's never anything suspicious, no hint of foul play."

Lydia bit her lip, tears running down her cheeks. She obviously couldn't continue, so Tiffany looked at Amber again.

"Freaky stuff, like a short in the television or a balcony on a honeymoon suite that's rusted. Things that people are only going to find out the worst way."

"I see." She couldn't see, really, but she could sense the shadow that hung over Lydia, and she thought about the spirit in the kitchen.

"But it's going to be different this time," Lydia said in a small voice. She looked up through her tears at Amber. "I know it is."

Amber put her hand on Lydia's shoulder. "You need to tell her that part, too."

Tiffany arched an eyebrow. "Which is…?"

"He picked the groom. He said if I married the right one, it would all be okay."

Tiffany stood and walked to the other side of the table. She felt like a magnet with the same pole toward Lydia's, the force pushing her backwards. "What did he offer you?"

Lydia shrugged. "A chance to finally be happy with a wonderful man."

Amber squeezed her friend's shoulder. "But you don't know that! You see, Tiffany," she said, and the party hostess heard the panic in the girl's voice, "this is why we need you! No one else believes in curses anymore!"

A clap of thunder shook the small building, and rain poured from the sky. Tiffany ran around the room and closed windows, which had been open to the surprisingly balmy weather. Now a chill wind whipped the empty branches outside.

"I think that you have no idea what you're getting into," she said and rubbed the goosebumps on her arms.

"I've already lost six husbands," said Lydia. "I almost didn't try again, but when Trent picked me up that night, I knew he'd be different. He'd be the one to break the curse!"

"Does he know about it?" Tiffany asked. She'd been ready to dismiss the girls' claim, but six husbands? Lydia couldn't be more than thirty! "And who picked him?"

"I don't know." Lydia blushed and looked away. "I only see him in my dreams. But yes, Trent knows about the curse. He laughed, especially when I told him he'd been chosen to break it."

The cuckoo clock on the wall chirped two, and Tiffany cursed under her breath. There would be a tea at four, and she needed time to clean the shop.

"We should go," said Amber.

Tiffany nodded. "Come back any time tomorrow. The wedding's next weekend, right?"

"It's Tuesday."

Tiffany almost dropped the plates she held. "That doesn't give us much time."


Tiffany made it through the tea at four o'clock, the dinner at six, and the martini dessert at nine with her mind half on her guests and half on Lydia's problem. Finally, at midnight, everyone had gone, and she and Lacey the cat had the place and a pile of dirty dishes to themselves. Tiffany shook her head and sat at the table instead, her ledger book in front of her, to record the day's charges and payments. If she was finishing up the pitcher of Cosmos she'd made for the last party, well, there was only the cat to scold her.

She had just entered the first invoice when she heard someone in the kitchen. The cat was with her, so that only left one possibility.

"Hello, Tizz."

"Good gravy, Mortal Slut!" The brownie stood with her hands on her hips and looked at the dirty dishes piled on every surface. "What in Celestina's panties have you been getting up to?" Her prominent dark eyes darted from plate to plate, no doubt noticing every bit of icing stuck to the porcelain, never mind the tray of martini glasses.

"What can I say? Business has been good. Your charm helped." She chose her words carefully so as not to accidentally use the "T" word – Thanks. Like most of the faery folk, brownies could be finicky and easily offended. This one had come with an antique dresser that now stood in the main room, the only thing left after a fire had destroyed the manor house it had come from in Ireland. Somehow Tizz had accompanied it, and Tiffany had inherited her when she bought it.

Tizz shook her head. "You're a strange one, helping women to get their marriages off to a good start considering you don't have even the beginnings of a decent home yourself."

Tiffany hid her smile. This was an old conversation. Tizz didn't approve of her background as a stripper and club dancer. She hadn't appeared until Tiffany had moved and set up her new life, and she showed up when she wanted, usually when Tiffany was overwhelmed.

"So, got any sense of what else happened here today?" Tiffany never knew where Tizz hid herself between manifestations.

Tizz waved her hand in front of her face and wrinkled her snub nose. "Phew, yeah, something stinks! I felt something come into my territory, but it wasn't here that long."

"It was a ghost. It spoiled the whipped cream for the punch bowl cake."

"That's not all."

With those words, Tiffany's hair stood on end. "What do you mean?"

"There was something nasty hanging around. That's why I'm here – you need to stay away from that business."

"Really?" Tiffany raised her eyebrows and perched on a counter while Tizz grabbed the pile of dishes closest to the sink with expert movements and started piling them in the dishwasher. "You're using that?"

Tizz paused. "You see? You've got me so worked up, I was going to use that infernal machine that only chips your plates. Yeah, really. There's more to that situation than rotten luck. And you've got some good things coming your way, honey, so just step back."

"I'll think about it."

"Which means you'll humor me now and do it anyway later." Tizz shook her head. "I know your type. Stubborn."

Tiffany laughed. "You're right, as always."

"Fine, then. I'll leave you a book you may find helpful. Now get out of my way. You did a good job messing up my kitchen."

"Yes, ma'am!" Tiffany saluted and went back into the main room. Soon her skin tingled, and she sensed that Tizz worked her magic in the kitchen to the music of clinking glasses and clanging dishes. When all was quiet, Tiffany went back into the kitchen and found everything clean and put away. A book waited on the wooden table that she used for prep, and her hair really stood on end when she saw the title engraved on the cracked leather cover: "Demons for Dummies."

----

Toby wiped his hands on the back of his jeans again. Like that would help figure out why the battery, which should've been good for another year, had pooped out. The cold rain stung the back of his neck, and he blinked water out of his eyes.

"Need a jump?"

Toby squinted into the darkness. A black Camaro idled on the shoulder behind him, and he wondered how he hadn't heard or seen it pull up. Not that the rain let him pay attention to much except the trail of cold water down his spine. The Camaro's driver, a slight man with black hair, moustache, and goatee, stood a few feet away, his eyebrows raised in a helpful expression.

"I need somethin'." He grinned. "If you've got some good cables, that'd be great. Mine are under the boxes in the backseat. He nodded to the extended cab, where his mother's precious linens rode inside.

"They're extra long, so they'll be just what you need. Give me a minute."

In less than a minute, the jumpers had been hooked up, and the truck's engine brought back to life. Toby let it idle while they disconnected and stowed the cables.

"There's a place on the next exit, Gabriel's truck stop," said the stranger. "Tell 'em Raphe sent you, and they'll take good care of you. I know they keep extra batteries and a tester on hand in case of emergencies like this."

"I'm Toby. Let me get dinner for you. It's the least I can do. There's no telling how long I'd've been stuck out here."

Raphe's smile showed even white teeth. "I haven't eaten in a while. See you there."

With that, he got into his Camaro and sped away. Toby eased his truck on to the shoulder and followed him into the darkness.


Tiffany had looked worse than this, but it had been a while. Like when she was in college doing the walk of shame from the Kappa Something Prick house. But this time she hadn't even gotten to party or hook up with hot, preppy guys!

First, her favorite – and only – hairbrush had broken. On top of that, the cats just wouldn't settle down. Every time she had been just about to drift off, one of them had moved, meowed, kneaded, or stomped over her. Now she stood, dark bags under her eyes, while Lacey and her black twin sister Lexie curled up on the bed, a fuzzy yin-yang of softly snoring comfort.

"Damn cats," she said, but she couldn't blame them. Neither cat would go near the book the brownie had given her.

Tiffany pulled her hair back and smoothed the bumps as best she could, then headed downstairs to finish cleaning the shop. Tizz had washed the dishes, dusted, and mopped, but she didn't use disinfectant products or vacuum. Tiffany placed incense in burners around the room, opened the windows to the brisk morning air, and got to work.

The sound of a truck pulling into the parking spot by the door made her look up from scrubbing the sink. She ran to the front of the shop to peek through the peephole and saw Lydia standing there. Tizz's warning replayed in her brain, but Lydia looked so miserable she couldn't resist opening it.

"Idiot!" The brownie's word hissed in her ear, and Tiffany whirled around, but Tizz was nowhere in sight. She turned back toward the door and nearly swallowed her tongue. Lydia stood beside a truly gorgeous guy: tall, wavy dark blond hair, full lips, and cobalt blue eyes that peered quizzically at her over his tilted Ray-Bans. He wore a black t-shirt with a knight slaying a dragon and the line, "Real Men Slay Demons" underneath.

"Are you okay?" asked Lydia with a frown. "Who were you looking for?"

"Just a slight manifestation of the spirit world." Tiffany held the door open so the others could step inside. "Come in."

"This is Trent," Lydia said. "My fiance."

Trent took his sunglasses off and wrinkled his nose. "Smells like Brownie," he said.

"I was baking yesterday," Tiffany told him.

He shook his head. "No, no, Brownie, like the fairy creature. I can get rid of it for you. They try to be helpful, but their phobia of modern appliances and cleaning methods only make them a nuisance. It's easy, all you have to do is thank them."

Tiffany closed her mouth and clenched her back teeth to keep the first thing that came to mind from escaping. "I like her," she said instead, loudly enough for Tizz to hear. "She's very helpful, and I have no desire to 'get rid of her.'"

Trent shrugged. "Your choice. Besides, I don't usually bother with small game." He walked around and sniffed the air. "Yep, Lydia, your demon was here. He's got that smell. Phew! And one of your past husbands, too." He headed toward the kitchen.

"Hey!" Tiffany called after him. "Who do you think you are, Mister… Supernatural Janitor?" She blushed. Damnit, she'd think of the perfect name for him after they left!

"Just what you said. A Scrubber." He picked up one of her rose quartz statuettes, this one an intricately carved flower. "Your little witchy tricks will only work so far with the real nasty critters. Besides, Azzie likes your type."

"Azzie probably has good taste, whoever that is." She crossed her arms and tried to look stern. "Now tell me what makes you so confident you can handle it. From what I can tell, you don’t even have any magical talent!"

"Don't need it." He grinned, and his perfect teeth irked her. She wanted one flaw to show, just one! "I've been called by a higher power. And Azzie is Asmodeous, Demon of Lust. Somehow he got attached to Lydia."

"And Trent is going to slay him on our wedding night," said Lydia. Trent puffed out his chest in a superhero pose. Or maybe he always did that. Prick.

"Uh, sorry, but you can't slay demons," Tiffany said, and Lydia whipped her head around to look at Trent. "You can only bind them."

Trent's confidence didn't waver. "I know that, but it sounds better to say, "slay them." Either way, I'll make sure he doesn't bother her again. But I just wanted to come by and let you know not to worry about her. I've got it under control."

"Obviously Amber doesn't think so." The words came out of Tiffany's mouth before she could stop them. "And if there's one thing you can't discount, it's how your best friend feels about your marital situation. That's something I know from experience."

"Oh, Amber." Trent waved his hand. "She's just overly anxious. But thanks for your help, anyway."

Tiffany looked at Lydia. "And what do you think?"

Lydia shrugged and looked down. "I trust him."

Her body language said otherwise, Tiffany thought. There was something else, but she couldn't figure it out.

"Where is the wedding?"

"At St. George's church on the square," Lydia said before Trent could stop her. "It's at three on Tuesday."

"I'll be there. I don't have a tea that day. Let me bring some cookies or something."

Lydia smiled. "My cousin from Seattle is bringing Italian wedding cookies, but I'd love some of your chocolate cupcakes. Those were fantastic!"

"Done." Tiffany shook Lydia's hand. "I'll see you then."

After they left, Tiffany looked up Scrubbers. Yep, a New-Age order of Demon Slayers with questionable effectiveness. Tiffany put everything away – she needed to do a dream ritual to figure out who had promised Lydia that she'd be safe with Trent. What was his motive for helping Lydia? Something didn't smell right about this situation, and it was more than ghost- and demon-stench.

V. Catfishy

Toby followed Raphe's low-slung black Camaro for what felt like miles. The rain had softened to mist and then fog, and he couldn't even see the headlights on the other side of the highway. If there were any. His headlights worked, and that was all that mattered. So did Raphe's taillights, two glowing red orbs about twenty feet ahead.

He felt himself going up an incline and saw that they were on the exit. How had he not noticed? Had he been so entranced with the dance of headlight and taillight that he had gone into a fog of his own? He followed the Camaro to a glowing spot in the fog, which ended up being Gabriel's Truck Stop, brightly lit but empty.

"Are they open?" Toby asked after pulling into a parking spot by the front window.

"He is." Raphael stretched, and water beaded off his black leather jacket. In spite of having been out in the cold and rain like Toby, the waves in his short hair hadn't moved.

"He?" Toby followed Raphe to the door, which swung inward with a tinkle of the jingle bells on a string tied to the handle. The place didn't look open – set up like a diner, the room they had entered was lit by the bright light coming from the kithcen.

"Gabriel. He runs this place. Keeps it word of mouth only. That's why you didn't see any advertising on the highway."

"Yep, you never know what's running around out there." Gabriel, a big guy with curly light brown hair and a dimple in his chin, appeared from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. He flipped a switch, and Toby had to squint against the sudden light.

"Gabe, this is Toby. Found him just after the last exit with a dead battery." Raphe inclined his head.

Gabriel's eyebrows crawled up his forehead. "Did you, now?" He shook Toby's hand. "Rough night to have car trouble. Or was that truck trouble?"

"Truck," said Toby. "My dad's."

"Where ya headed?" Gabriel motioned for them to take stools at the counter and pushed laminated menus at them. "Special's bearded catfish. Just swam in today."

"Going to Georgia. My cousin's getting married. Mom's sending cookies."

Gabriel raised his eyebrows. "Couldn't you have mailed them?"

Toby felt the back of his neck grow hot. "Yeah. So tell me about the catfish."

Gabe grinned. "I guarantee they're like nothin' you've ever seen. Big, meaty, but with extra whiskers. Some say it helps them be extra perceptive, but it didn't help these guys. I've got 'em in a tank in the back. Wanna see?"

"Sure." If it would keep them off the subject of why he was escorting cookies across the country instead of mailing them, Toby would look at Gabriel's Aunt Edna's knee warts. He followed Gabriel into the spotless kitchen to the back, where a large fish tank stood against the back wall. Only one fish swam in it.

"Where are the rest of them?"

Gabriel shrugged. "Specials run out. This one seemed to be smarter than the rest. I'll leave you for a minute, get started on Raphe's usual, and let you think about it."

Toby bent over and looked through the thick glass at the fish that swam around inside. Sure enough, in addition to its feelers, it had whiskers running along the bottom of its chin and a little way down its ventral side, almost like a thick beard and chest hair.

"A fish with chest hair," Toby muttered to himself. He hoped Gabriel made strong coffee – he'd need it.

"More manly than you'll ever be," a voice said. Toby looked around.

"Who was that?"

"Yeah, yeah, you heard me." Toby looked at the tank, where the voice seemed to be coming from. The fish hovered in the water. Toby bent again so he was eye level with it.

"Okay, Raphe," he said. "Joke time is over."

The fish rolled over and gave Toby a "stupid human" look.

"It's a joke, right?" Toby's voice cracked, but he didn't care. This evening had now reached its pinnacle of weirdness, and he was ready to go. He straightened up and turned away from the tank.

"Aw, man, you're not gonna eat me, are you?" It was the voice again, behind him.

Toby turned back around. "I am not talking to a fish."

The catfish's mouth seemed to move more frequently than its gills, and for a second, Toby was dizzy. "Looks to me like you are, buddy."

Okay, it was the fish. Why was that so hard to believe?

"Because it's a freaking talking fish!" Toby balled his hands into fists. "Do not lose control, do not lose control."

"You okay back there?" asked Gabriel. He peered around a set of wire shelves that held large cans of tomatoes, bags of flour, and huge bottles of olive oil.

"I… I think so." The room spun for a moment, and he stumbled. He reached out to grab for support, and his fingers met the cool, slick surface of the tank. He jerked away and tumbled on to the floor.

"Looks to me like you need somethin' to eat." Gabriel helped him up. "Give me two shakes, and I'll get that fish fried up for you."

"No!" Toby caught his breath. "No, that's okay, I'd rather have a burger."

"Suit yourself." Gabriel helped Toby out to the stool, where Raphe and a cup of coffee waited for him. His head didn't stop spinning until he'd finished his burger and fries.

"You look tired," Gabriel said. "Maybe you should stay the night. I've got rooms in the back for the truckers."

Toby nodded. He'd been talking to a fish, after all. "I think I'd better do that." Gabriel gave him a key and room number. Toby didn't see the look that the other two men exchanged after he walked out to his truck to get the duffel bag with his change of clothes.