Curses! by J. A. Kazimer Page B

Maker’s, but without the waxy smell or freaky statues of dead movie villains. Rows of pilfered and pawned electronics, stolen jewels, and magic wands lined dust-free shelves. The recession had hit everyone hard, but it was especially hard on fairy godmothers. Hell, poor Glinda the Good Witch, new mayor of Munchkin County, had to start hooking to pay for yellow brick road repairs while that bitch Dorothy ran off with a priceless pair of slippers and a flying monkey named Bob.
    Sometimes fairytales weren’t fair.
    I strolled up to the counter searching the glass case for any sign of the Devil’s Eye. Finding none, I smashed my hand on the service buzzer and waited for the shopkeeper, Baba Yaga, to appear.
    When she did, I stifled a scream. Baba Yaga looked ten times worse than she did the last time I saw her. At that time she looked ugly enough to give trolls nightmares. Baba Yaga’s nose had grown two extra warts and her skin turned from pale green to full-on chartreuse. Her shoulders hunched even more, nearly toppling her scrawny body over.
    â€œYou!” She stabbed her finger in my direction. I jumped back, afraid her ugly was the catchy kind. Instead of stopping her, my ninjalike move only increased her anger. She flew (literally, broomstick and all) over the counter and leapt on me. We crashed to the floor, bits of ugly witch and villain everywhere.
    Baba’s fist smashed into my jaw. Pain radiated up my face and into my brain. And yet, I couldn’t do a damn thing to end her assault. Stupid union. When she started biting, my survival instinct overpowered my impotency. I lashed out with a stern “Owwwwww! Owwww! Quit biting me.”
    From a bystander’s point of view, it might have sounded more like me begging and squealing like a pretty, pretty princess, but I digress.
    â€œI want my money back. Right now!” Her fist nicked my chin again, opening up a wide cut. Blood welled from the wound, dripping onto my new T-shirt. She punched me again, screaming, “You little sawed-off—”
    That did it.
    I shoved the old witch off me. “No need for name calling, you old hag. Give me back my mirror and I’ll give you your money.”
    She sucked in a putrid breath. “I don’t have it.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThe sheriff. He took it.” She swallowed. “Threatened to arrest me for receiving stolen goods too.”
    That didn’t make any sense since I didn’t steal anything, not really. Okay, that might not be true in a strict legal sense, but still ...
    â€œWhen’d he confiscate it?”
    â€œThis morning,” she said.
    Damn. I’d only found the Eye wedged between Cinderella’s bed a day ago, and from the look of it, it had been there a while, and now it was missing. Taken by the sheriff of Maledetto. But why? What could the sheriff possibly want with the cursed object? And more so, why would the sheriff retrieve the Eye himself? Why not send his legion of boys in paisley to retrieve the relic? Unless retrieving the Eye wasn’t a criminal matter, but a personal one.
    I ran my hand through my hair. So much happened in the last day. Natasha was dead. My sweet Asia was cursed by the Eye of the Devil. And if I wasn’t mistaken, Baba Yaga was currently picking bits of my skin from her greenish teeth.
    She glanced my way and winked. “So where’s my dough, pretty boy?”
    I pulled out my wallet and tossed her some cash. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it would have to do. Her frown warned me of an impending ass-kicking, but I held her off. “I’ll have the rest of your money by tomorrow.” My middle finger curved into a Villain Scouts salute. “I promise.”
    Her good eye narrowed, but she didn’t attack, so I gathered up my tattered, dirt-stained self and headed into the night on a quest for a mythological makeup mirror.
    As far as villainy went, I’d had better days.
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