Claire and Tabby told her of their night, really downplaying the spider-leg, because they didn’t want to be the reason Maria’s pleasant night came crashing down. But Maria kept prodding them for more information, and they eventually settled—despite Tabby’s almost tearful pleas—to bring the Ouija board downstairs so Maria could see it for herself.
Sherlock shouted more than once, as the sounds of ripping paper and moving clutter rang out in his ‘office,’ I can hear you guys talking! Stop it, unless you all want to be on my shit-list, right under squirrels, the mailman, and Gnomes!
They kept talking.
Maria stood up, and Tabby was still pleading with her not to go get the Ouija board, to which Maria replied by saying, “I’ve got my sword now. No big deal.”
“You also have the music box here. Maybe the spider leg sensed it wasn’t here before and gave up,” Claire said. “And as big as it was, I’d hate to see what it’s attached to.”
Maria just patted her sword hilt. The belt was now cinched around her waist. She still wore the pretty blue dress, and on her way to the stairs, she caught her reflection in the hall mirror. “I better change into something more comfortable, if I’m gonna be fighting giant spiders again. You know, just in case.”
So she went to her room and changed into a pair of comfortable jeans, a tank top, and, because it made her look like a badass witch, especially with the sword around her waist, a leather jacket she had bought when she became obsessed with the movie Grease a couple years ago. She also removed the bobby pins from her hair and let it fall down. It was still done up, but looked much closer to her regular style than normal.
She smiled in her vanity mirror and said, “I kissed Joe Gelepo; I can do anything.”
Pleased with how she looked, she left her room and turned down the hall toward her grandpa’s. Just as she reached out for the doorknob, a great burst of energy crackled downstairs. Her heart trip-hammered in her chest. She feared the worst; especially with the image of a giant spider leg coming out of a black void in the middle of the Ouija board so fresh in her mind.
“Claire? Tabby?” she shouted down the steps. In her hand was the sword. She wasn’t even aware that she’d drawn it until she looked down. Now she took the steps two at a time—probably not the safest practice. They say don’t run with scissors, not the type of big swords you see in high fantasy movies, her mind mused.
When she turned the corner into the living room, where the TV was blaring, she saw a strange woman dressed in black. She was older, perhaps in her fifties, but her deep blue eyes shone with youthful enthusiasm.
Maria raised the sword up so it was diagonal in front of her, going by what she had seen in movies like The Lord of the Rings and Willow.
The woman’s mouth opened to say something, but Maria didn’t want her to even get one syllable out, because this woman was a witch, Maria could almost smell the dark magic lingering about her. She made a move.
“Maria!” Gramps shouted.
The witch backed up, lost her balance, and fell into Gramps’s arms. Claire and Tabby watched from the corner of the room, near the television, with shocked expressions on their faces.
“Sheath your sword. Freida is an ally!”
Maria obeyed.
There was an uncomfortable silence in the air for a moment, until Maria said, “Whoops! Almost stabbed you there. I’m so sorry!”
The dark witch named Frieda shook her head. “No, it’s no big deal. Do not worry, child. I should’ve announced myself before things got so out of…control.”
Sherlock waddled into the living room, his nose twitching as he sniffed the air near Frieda. In his mouth was a slobbery piece of paper.
Who’s this?
Maria was surprised to hear that his voice sounded muffled.
“Frieda, meet Maria and our dog Sherlock,” Gramps said. He was smiling, now that any sense of danger seemed to be vanquished.
Frieda stuck out her hand and shook Maria’s. “It is an honor, Maria.” Then she bent down and stroked Sherlock under his chin. She hit one of his many ticklish spots, and his leg kicked wildly. “And it is a pleasure to meet you, too, Sherlock.” When she stopped, Sherlock sat there in a daze, his tail going a mile a minute.
Wow! Ask her to Dog Prom for me, Maria! Please!
“For the last time, there is no Dog Prom!” Maria shouted, a smile on her face.
Then what’s this?
Sherlock dropped the wet piece of paper on the carpet in front of Maria. She picked it up by the lone dry corner, read it, and then burst into uncontrollable laughter.
What? What the hell is so funny?
“This…this is a subscription card for Cat Fancy magazine,” Maria said through her chuckles.
What? Sherlock lunged forward and snatched the soggy paper from her. That—That’s not mine. Someone must’ve left it here.
“Sherlock, it’s filled out with your name and ‘My office at the Apples’ house.’”
No, someone is playing a trick on me, I swear. I don’t like cats. Yuck!
Now everyone else was laughing, mainly because they saw how flustered Sherlock was in trying to cover his reasoning of requesting a subscription to a cat magazine, even if the rest of them couldn’t understand what he was saying.
Damn it, he muttered. I’ll be back. Gotta go burn this card.
But as Sherlock went up the hallway toward his so-called office, Maria leaned around the living room doorway and saw him slip the note through the mail slot
