Page 16 of Hexed, Vexed, & Undersexed

"Good boy," I whisper to Binx, giving him some more scratches before standing back up. "All right, Preston, let's get this over with."

"You'll do great," he whispers encouragingly.

Taking a deep breath, I try to remember that while I'm supposed to be a hippie witch, they’re still my competitors—peace and love are just a front.

"Evanora, or Crystal Moon for the show, I'd like you to meet Winnifred, our resident traditional witch," Preston introduces.

I force a smile on my face, but the only thing that I can think of is that if this is what humans consider a 'traditional' witch, then we're all doomed. Before me is an old woman draped in dark-colored robes with a black pointed hat. The nails on her spotted hands are long and pointed, but the worst of all is the large prosthetic beak-like nose—with a wart and all.

Could they be anymore cliché?

"It's nice to meet you, dear," she says with a toothy grin, sounding more like a sweet old gram who would rather bake cookies for children than eat them for lunch.

My gram-gram should take lessons from her—for baking cookies!

I swear my gram-gram is not a cannibal, just a dirty birdy.

"And you," I respond, shaking her hand.

A person who I assume is Winnifred's coach comes up, directing her attention away from me. I breathe a sigh of relief, glad that he didn’t stop to introduce himself.

One down, four more to go.

Preston steers me toward the next contestant.

"Gandalf?!" I spout when my eyes land on an older gentleman with a long white beard, sporting silver and gray robes and a crumpled looking witch's hat to match; he even has a staff in his hand!

Preston coughs in a poor attempt to cover up his laughter.

"No, not Gandalf," my coach corrects once he’s able to get his chuckling under control. "Nora, this is Loïc, the show’s druid. Loïc, this is Evanora, or Crystal Moon."

Huh—a druid, you say?

There’s nothing about him that screams druid.

Merlin?

Maybe.

Gandalf leading a bunch of halflings across the continent?

Totally.

All he’s missing with the outfit are the hobbits and the pipe.

But nothing ‘druid’—at least until I see that his staff is engraved with a wide array of Celtic knots and symbols.

I guess if that's what the audience wants. . . but Gandalf would be better.

Not that anyone will listen to me on that.

As long as Not Gandolf stays away from my Precious—nobody but a Porter should touch Mother Shipton’s grimoire.

"Evanora, what a unique name," Loïc states, his head tilting in thought. "Does it stem from someone in the family?"

"My great—times twelve—grandmother was named Evanora. It's Porter family tradition to keep things like that from generation to generation," I explain, happy to meet someone else here that seems relatively normal.

Yes, I am aware that it is quite the oxymoron coming from me—kettle meet pot.