Page 19 of Hexed, Vexed, & Undersexed

Tituba was taken into custody, but her son managed to escape before anyone could arrest him. Now, local covens claim to be of his descent, even though there has never been any record of him remaining in the Salem area. Apparently, my gram-gram is hoping one of these covens is telling the truth and their book of spells has something to counter Ann Putnam’s hex.

“Dare I ask how you got the Baker grimoire?” I query drolly.

Grimoires are sacred—in case you haven’t noticed—and you sure as shit don’t share them outside of your coven.

That’s big no-no right there.

“I let their high priest stick his bat in my belfry,” Gram-Gram answers, making me blanch.

“That is most disturbing euphemism for sex that I’ve ever heard—and to be clear, a bat in the belfry means crazy, which is more than applicable in your case.”

Gram sniffs in offense.

“I know what it means, Evanora Porter. You’re just jealous ol’ Gram-Gram is getting some and you’re not,” she snaps.

Oooooooo, my ovaries sing.

I’d give my groin area a good punch to shut them up, but more than likely I’d just rupture my appendix or something. Then, the obnoxious, traitorous bitches would make me even more miserable as they rubbed in my undersexed status while I lie on a hospital bed.

“I’d give you the middle finger, but the last time I did that, you made it swell up the size of my frickin’ hand,” I grouse with a pout.

“Learned your lesson, didn’t you?”

“Yep. I learned to wait to flip you the bird until you’re out of sight,” I joke and she throws a handful of dirt at me.

Hmm, soil must be one of the components for a spell she wants to use.

“What’s so complicated?” my gram-gram wonders. I must look confused because she clarifies, “About the show? You said‘it’s complicated.’”

“Because a Putnam is competing, too,” I tell her bluntly.

“What?!” she shrieks. Clumps of earth go flying when she shoves the Baker grimoire back from her to stand. “Those hexing menaces have the audacity to reproduce, let alone compete?!”

“My sentiments, exactly,” I agree dryly.

“The little witch will surely use her magic to win!” Gram cries in dismay.

“He’ll,” I emphasize. “And isn’t that the point?”

“The Putnam spawn is a boy?”

No—he’s all man.

“Yep, the guy’s definitely a dick,” I snicker, instead.

Gram rolls her eyes.

“Of course, he is. He’s a Putnam. And you know what I meant, Evanora! This is ahumancontest—no one should be practicing real magic to win.”

When Gram-Gram starts to mutter about using another coven for a spell—which would come at a hefty price that I don’t even want to contemplate—I cut her off.

“I said it was complicated, but not impossible. I’m not overly worried,” I reassure her.

She narrows her eyes.

“Then, you’re a fool. No one can compete against real magic—”

“It’s rigged,” I interrupt again.