Slightly Spellbound by Kimberly Frost

Dallas.”
    I winced. Romantic relationships weren’t the only ones that were exhausting.

10
    VANGIE INSISTED THAT she keep me company for moral support. Since I didn’t feel like talking, I put in a DVD of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and then promptly fell asleep on the couch. I was startled awake by a sharp prod in my side.
    I opened one tired eye. “What?”
    “They’re here! What are they doing here?” Vangie demanded.
    “Who?” I mumbled, sitting up. Hair hung in my eyes, like my vision didn’t have enough trouble with blurriness from sleep.
    “You didn’t tell her I was here, did you?” Vangie asked, giving my arm a sharp pinch.
    “Ow. Cut that out,” I said, smacking her hand away. “I’ve been asleep. Who would I have told? The Sandlady?”
    “You didn’t call her earlier?”
    “I don’t even know who the heck you’re talking about.”
    Vangie made a threatening pincer motion. “Tell me the truth. Did she call you?”
    “For pete’s sake,” I said, shoving her away from me. “You pinch me again, and I’ll never make you another dessert for as long as you live.”
    Vangie sucked in a breath and widened her eyes, yanking her hand back.
    Oh yeah, I can play rough.
    “Now, who’s out there? And what kind of weapon do I need?”
    “It’s Oatha Theroux, my stepmother. She’s probably got Beau with her. I didn’t see him through the peephole, but he’s somewhere nearby. Let’s go out the back and climb the fence. How tall is it? Can I climb it in these shoes?” She raised a lace-up platform boot.
    I gave her leg a push to lower it. “We’re not climbing any fence,” I said. “You just keep your boots on.” I stalked to the kitchen drawer and got my gun. I tucked it under my shirt. “This is where I live. I’m not fixin’ to be run out of my own house. And nobody’s going to run off any of my friends either. Especially when I’m busy watching—or sleeping through—a movie.”
    “Uh, Tammy Jo?”
    “Yeah?” I asked, glancing around. “Where’s Mercutio? Merc?” I called.
    “I think he’s out. He left a while—”
    Mercutio bounded down the stairs. I bent down and stroked his head.
    “Morning, Merc. We’ve got company.”
    “Oh, he’s home. He’s quite stealthy.”
    “That he is,” I said fondly. Mercutio stretched.
    “Tammy Jo, I’m just going to—um—I’ll be here, but don’t tell them that I am, okay?” With that, she opened a closet where I kept my mops and stepped inside. She pulled the door closed.
    “For the love of Hershey,” I grumbled, marching to the front door, where the knocking had gotten louder and more urgent. Mercutio hissed at the closed door.
    “It’s like that, is it?”
    I had been reaching for the door handle with my right, but switched to my left in case I needed my gun hand free. I opened the door and coughed at the putrid smell that wafted in.
    Oatha had streaks of gray that had resisted black hair dye, wrinkles that had resisted Botox, and teeth that had resisted straightening. Her lipstick shade was the color of dried blood—more brown than red—and if she hadn’t used at least six coats of mascara, she’d attached dead caterpillars to her eyelids. Her dark purple stretch top plunged farther than was decent unless you’re working as a stripper, and somebody should’ve paid her bra’s underwire overtime. Beyond all the Goth gone bad, though, the unsettling thing was the stench. When I was seven, we’d taken a class trip to Stucky Clark’s family ranch. We’d discovered a dead cow covered in flies and baking in the sun. Oatha Rhodes smelled almost as bad as a bloated cow rotting in the Texas heat.
    She sized me up and nodded. “Hello, Trask child. Is your mother or aunt here?”
    I shook my head, taking a step back.
    She sniffed. “Tell her to come out.”
    “Who?” I asked, peering past her. I didn’t see the stepbrother yet.
    “My stepdaughter.”
    “Who says she’s here?”
    She narrowed her eyes,