Chapter One
"What do you mean you sent my anniversary present back?" I stared at the silver haired biker witch. She wore chaps, a leather jacket with fringe, and had an obnoxious rhinestone skull do-rag knotted around her neck. Sue me when I felt the urge to yank it tighter.
Yes, my Grandmother's gang of witches was…unusual. Word had it, they'd been a regular coven before a demon had kept them on the run for thirty years. After that, they'd had to move fast, stay on the road. They'd started riding Harleys. Then came the biker nicknames, the tattoos, and boyfriends named Lizard Lips. The rest was history.
At the moment, I was tempted to call Ant Eater by her real name. Mildred.
Her eyes widened behind her green tinted hippie sunglasses as I glared at her. She held up her hands. "I'm telling you, Lizzie, it looked like another box of empty beer cans."
That got a definite frown from the hunky shape-shifting griffin to my right. "The package was addressed to me," he growled.
Damn. I always liked having him on my side. Luckily, I'd been smart enough to marry him. Dimitri stood a foot above the tallest one of us, a wall of muscle and grit. And I'd never get enough of my husband's lyrical Greek accent, even now, with Ant Eater pulling one of her stunts.
"Fairy mail usually requires a signature," I said.
Fae paths were strictly regulated. Reliable, too. Fairy postal workers could find anyone, anywhere in two to three business days. It was the best way to get things while we were on the road.
Ant Eater shook her head. "If you want to return something, you just gotta tell them it isn't for you." She blew out a breath. "I should have looked at the whole who it was addressed to thing," she said with a wince, which was as close to an apology as we'd get. She shot a glare at the blonde witch closing in on her left. "I was trying to save our asses. I don't care if Frieda collects what she drinks," she said, turning up the volume, "but if that woman doesn't stop ordering beer cans on eBay, we're going to be buried in rusty Schlitz cans."
"Those cans are vintage," Frieda said, as if we were dissing her children. "You show me a 1954 Schlitz that doesn't have rust." She brought a bright pink painted fingernail to her chin. "And if we're cleaning up, maybe I should toss all those bras you have hanging down by the creek."
That earned her a glare from Ant Eater. "Do it and you die."
"What the frick, people?" I asked. And when did this become my life?
Yes, I'd run off with my grandma's gang of biker witches. They'd taught me how to fulfill my destiny as a demon slayer. They'd also saved my butt more than once. In return, I'd hoped I could calm them down a little. I'd been a preschool teacher in my former life. I'd made my peace with chaos.
This was a whole new brand of it. And somewhere along the way, they'd gotten me into wearing leather pants. And bustiers.
I wasn't quite sure how that happened.
In any case, we didn't need to be fighting about beer cans. Or dirty undies. I got that riding Georgia's winding back roads could make a person spit dust, but, "No unpacking. We're only stopping for dinner."
Frieda snorted. "Damn, I hope you get more than that."
"That's rude," I told her, ignoring Ant Eaters low chuckle. Although, frankly, I'd been hoping the same thing.
A year ago, on this very night, I'd married the mostly sweet and always sexy Dimitri Kallinikos. We'd said our 'I do's' at a gorgeous estate on the coast. Of course, the Earl of Hell crashed the wedding, but you know, these things happen.
This year, we found ourselves toning it down a little.
Okay, a lot.
As in right now, we were standing a field off Route 9. We hadn't seen anyone for miles.
It was me, my sexy-as-sin husband and about thirty biker witches, who were busy tossing back beers, making campfires, and setting up dart boards against some pine trees by the creek.
I turned to Dimitri. "You want to help me with this one?"
But he'd
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