“Am I in trouble?” Angie asked. “Are we in trouble?”
Mama rubbed her forehead as if she had a headache. “No, Angie Baby, you and Mud are the heroes of the hour, except to the rabbit eared girls, the remaining members of the board of directors, and Dr. Jenkins.” Mama didn’t sound real happy about them being heroes. “You have, however, given me white hair a few decades too soon.”
Angie didn’t see any white hair, but whatever.
Mama said, “And we have to figure out how to turn the bunny ears back to human.”
Angie shrugged as innocently as she knew how and said, “It wasn’t my working. I just accidently caught a little bit when I was trying to put up ahedgeto protect myself and the bunny fell and broke.”
Mama rolled her eyes. Like a full eyeroll. But she didn’t argue with Angie’s lie. “Say goodbye to Mud. Her sister is here and your daddy and I are taking you home.”
???
Mud and Angie walked through the garden, and sat to the side of their new patch. They hadn’t had time to actually plant anything and Mud looked sad at the sight of the bare ground. She ran her open hand across it, the way some people stroked cats. With herother hand, she spread tiny black seeds, and then gently brushed soil over them. She put both open hands on the ground and, weirdly, tiny leaves began to push up between her fingers.
Mud smiled softly and pulled a zippy from her pocket. Inside was a paper towel and a bit of water, and Mud transplanted the sprouts into the bag. “My sister loves basils, so I made a basil variety all her own. It’s called Nellie’s Bounty and we sell ’em online. They’re really good with ’maters and also with garlic and pine nuts. If you plant these you’ll have basil all summer, and if you let some go to seed, they’ll come back every year. Just don’t plant them near mints.”
Angie blinked hard and said, “Okay. Thank you.” She took the baggie in one hand and with the other pulled a rock from her own pocket. “This is a blood hedge. It’s the strongest personal protection my family can make, and we make the best. If you’re in danger, you can cut yourself and put the stone in the blood, then squeeze it.” She demonstrated the process with an air knife and a nonexistent wound. “It’ll keep you safe for an hour. If you ever have to use it, send it back to me and I’ll recharge it and return it.”
Mud studied at the stone, which was an unpolished black rock with white layers. “Nobody would ever guess it was a magic thingamajig. Smart.” She didn’t look up and frowned at the stone. “I don’t have friends. Not magic friends. I got a huge family and more true-sibs and half-sibs than I can count. But you’re my first true friend who ain’t family.”
“You’re my first friend too,” Angie said. “We’ll get our phones back for real when we leave and can talk anytime. You know. If you want to.”
“I do. Thanks for letting me help plan the revenge. And I gotta say, them ears was a masterful touch. Dr. Jenkins’s ears reached her elbows before your mama got them to stop growing.”
Angie laughed. “Yeah. That part was pretty amazing. You coming back next year?”
“If you are.”
Angie held out a dirty hand, little finger up. Best friends? Forever? Pinkie swear?”
Mud hooked her pinkie around Angie’s and said, “Deal.”
THE END
The Elopement that Wasn’t
Faith’s Note:My dearest readers. You ask often, in the past and now, “What happened with Jane and Bruiser and all my friends?” Here you go: It isn’t the sweet romantic froufrou wedding normal brides dream about. Oh no. It is not. It’s a . . . It’s aJanewedding.
???
“Queenie darlin, you be still or I’ll pin a hole in you that will bleed over this silk and totally spoil the effect of all this lovely draped and shaped fabric.” Deon spun to the side and pointed at a person who was usually kitchen help. “Girl, you put that baby’s breath away. Queenie Janie would look stupid with that. We’ll use catnip with the scentless lilies in the bouquet.”
“No catnip,” I grouched. “My Beast will just get cat-drunk. And how can I draw a weapon with all this cloth in the way?” I clutched handfuls of slick fabric and swished it. “Holy crap, it’s a tent!”
“You will make a lovely catnip-drunken bride,” Deon said with a saucy grin, “and your Prince Charming will absolutely swoon.” The smile vanished and Deon sniffed. “Most brides do not carry or draw weapons at a wedding.”
“But—” I started.
His smile vanished and he raised his eyebrows, fists dropping to his hips—hips that were shaped with spandex andglittered with pink and peacock-green sequins. Deon’s makeup glittered too and his eyes were shaped with deep green and black. His hair was swept back with gel that looked harder than a turtle’s shell, and he was wearing hot pink stilettoes with heels shaped like a body part. I deliberately hadn’t looked too closely at the heels, but the attire said Deon had gone all out and . . . I was ruining his day.
The realization slapped me like a wet glove.Oh crap.This wasn’tmyday. The dress fitting washisday.
While I absorbed the obvious, his face had soured. “Though I agree you are not most brides.”
Meekly, totally unlike myself, I said, “The blasted dress fit two days ago.”
“And you changed shape two times and lost about ten pounds you cannot afford to lose, Queenie Pie. So I can take up the dress or we can call Madam Melisande in again and she—”
