The Wicked Witch with Versace Wisdom

Chapter 2

One never plans to destroy a cleaning business on a Tuesday afternoon. It just sort of happens. Granted, if the company acted professional, there would be no need for someone to take such drastic measurements. I looked down at my wristwatch, a beautiful golden Van Cleef & Arpels, while getting more and more irritated. To pay for this jewellery I needed to get to the House of Dupont's and start looking for a missing werewolf lord. Not standing in a parking lot talking to a human.

"Please go over the story one more time, Miss Blyth. How exactly did the fire happen?" The man was nice enough looking, around thirty years of age with blue eyes and bulging muscles under the police suit. There was a couple days' worth of stubble on his chin. I imagined that he was the type of guy who only had one bottle of soap in his bathroom.

"Like they always happen. Fuel, heat, and oxygen causes a chemical reaction and suddenly there is no more Dusters & Feathers CO. Truly a tragedy. Can I go now?"

"Sorry ma'am, we need to finish this statement first", he responded. I sighed and looked at the time again before resigning myself to a fate of boring, never-ending questions and a bunch of pissed of werewolves. "You claim you saw a blond woman spilling something near the electric equipment. Do you know what type of liquid?" It was lighter fluid. The more expensive and flammable brand with the blue flames on the front of the bottle.

"Oh dear, I really couldn't tell. Perhaps a coffee or a smoothie. She looked like the healthy type", I said. The man diligently wrote it down.

"What is your status?" I raised my eyebrows and the man held up his hands. "Sorry ma'am. I need to hear you say it unless I want to be written up for supernatural stereotyping. It's protocol."

"Wicca." When it came to appearances there was no questions needed. I looked painfully like the pure breed Celtic witch that I was. Including the curly red hair, freckles, and green eyes. The only thing that made me stand out, except for my great sense of style and personality, was the port-wine stain that reached between my left ear, down my neck and up towards my chin. Grandma Norma called it a curse. She swore the mark was responsible for everything bad that happened to the Blyth family after I was born. Like uncle George hitting on underage girls or cousin Rosalie growing up looking like a swamp trying to eat itself. Not to mention the hurricane catastrophe of '98. "Can I go now? I have a meeting with the Dupont's and I'm already late. Do you know how many clothes I could buy with this job?" At the mention of the local royalty the human swallowed, but to his credit he still wouldn't let me go. The man clearly had integrity and work ethics. It was so annoying.

"Finally, what coven are you registered to, miss Blyth?" I really hoped he wouldn't ask that. Modern society was structured around the Code of the Four from 1699. Those were the werewolf houses, vampire councils, wicca covens and the office of humanity. After your birth or change you would be placed under one of those institutions. There were however a few exceptions. Certain supernatural's, such as the fae or some animal shifters, had too small of a population to garner their own titles. They were normally placed under either the werewolves or vampires, but this led to a lot of rebellions and fights for independency. There were also the poor hybrids who, if not killed immediately at conception, swiftly got locked up as a dirty family secret. The final reason why someone wouldn't be a part of the Code was the simplest and most common. They were kicked out. Usually for criminal acts or, as in my case, blatant discrimination. If not for my talent I would probably be homeless or suffering at one of the rogue facilities right about now. No Gucci, Prada or Versace in sight.

"Well, I'm kinda in between covens. It's a funny story, but you are a busy man so let's talk about it another time. I'm going to go now. Bye." I spined around, saw a familiar black car driving into the parking lot and realized more human exposure might be good for my health. "On second thought Officer, I'm contemplating heterosexuality. Are you single?"

"Eh...Excuse me?" The man spluttered. I grasped his hand in mine. It was clammy and his skin started to turn an interesting shade of ballet slipper pink.

"Dinner? Your treat." Behind me a car door slammed before I felt it. A vibration in the air that was unmistakable and almost made me weak at the knees. Almost. "I'm busy discussing my newfound love for the male genitalia, Jovanovic. Bug off. "

"You're late, Gracie sweet." The vampire grasped my shoulders and rudely pulled me away. Dragana Eliza Jovanovic was born in Slovakia but had been in the US for a couple hundred years. Plentily of time, one would assume, to get rid of any accent. Still her words seemed to curl into themselves like they were making love. It was obscenely hot. I hated her.

"Have you never heard of appropriate tardiness, Sesame Street biter puppet?" Look at that, I could also create stupid nicknames. Dragana pushed me against the car. She smelled like roses and vanilla. Her skin was bright, her bee stinged lips glossy and inviting. "Let me go before I turn your ass into a bald toad. Or a worm with the plague and fuchsia flowers on your..."

"Oh, do shut up." Dragana placed one hand on my neck. The touch was delicate. She would never squeeze, no matter how angry she got. "The Dupont's are waiting. I will not lose their favor because of a rogue arsonist in an ugly dress", she muttered. I gasped.

"This is a green charmeuse Dolce & Gabbana fall collection, you bitch. Take it back." Dragana smiled sardonically. Grasping the hem, she pulled the fabric until it was almost stretched to its breaking point. Her face came closer until I could see the red flakes in her golden eyes.

"Will you nicely get into the car if I do?" she said in a low voice. When I didn't answer fast enough, she gave the dress a tug. The threat was loud and clear.

"I might", I said.

"You look exquisite, Amanda Grace. Your dress is so pretty." My vampire ex-lover stepped away and pulled the car door open. I checked my clothes for any wrinkles, dirt, or damage. Dolce & Gabbana was not made for hostage situations. "Now get in." I glared at her.

"Just for the record, I'm not an arsonist and I'm appalled at the baseless accusation." I squared my shoulders and climbed over the steering wheel into the passenger seat with as much dignity as I could muster. Dragana snorted.

"I can smell the lighter fluid from your bag, Gracie sweet." The audacity. I pulled the window down and threw away the bottle without looking at her.

"If I accidently caused something, which I didn't, it was because they deserved it. Dusters & Feathers refused my service. I needed a new cleaning lady and they wouldn't even take my calls." I crossed my arms. "I don't get why they are so butthurt over one dead employee. I brought the head back."