the table.
“Nope,” I said with my eyes squeezed shut so hard I felt a headache coming on.
“Come on Zelda,” Dad pleaded.
I could hear him placing more items on the table and I was seconds away from shrinking the clothing on his body to extra small. This was so unfair.
“You listen to me,” I hissed as I sat on my hands and kept my eyes firmly closed. It was too risky to have the use of my hands. I’d either zap him, which wasn’t nice, or I’d grab the stash on the table and run. Neither scenario was attractive or happening. “I’m a witch who heals dumb ass Shifters when they get booboos. I do not have the time to humiliate myself in front of the masses on stage. I do fine with that in my daily life. The answer is a big, fat, hairy no.”
“All right then.” He sighed dramatically. “I suppose Sassy might like the black Hermes Birkin bag with the gold hardware.”
“Do you hate me?” I shouted as I threw myself over the bag like it was a fumbled football in the Super Bowl. “Sassy’s coloring does not go with this bag. It would look much better carried by someone with red hair. And you’re a total dick.”
“I’ve been called far worse,” he replied with a chuckle and then sighed dramatically. “All of this is yours. I was just hoping you would humor an old warlock. I so wanted to be in charge of an extravaganza.”
He gently pried me off of the bag and placed it in my arms along with all the other apparel. I stared down at my windfall and wanted to cry. Dad sat down next to me and put his head in his hands… and he wasn’t trying to trick me anymore. Shit.
“I don’t need this stuff. You can give the bag to Saaaa… ssaaay,” I whispered as I felt the need to either put my head between my knees or breathe into a paper bag. “You have to stop spending money on me. I don’t deserve any of it. I called you a dick. I’m pretty sure daughters calling their fathers dicks isn’t good.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” he assured me as he put his arms around me and squeezed. “I wasn’t there for your teenage years so you owe me about four years of calling me a dick.”
“Only four?” I asked with a small grin.
“Okay, five,” Dad conceded generously with an adorable lopsided grin.
We sat in silence for a few minutes. It felt so nice to be held by him. I was thirty, but in his arms I was a little girl—a wanted and adored little girl.
“I can’t believe I’m going to say this… but I’ll think about it,” I muttered as I shook my head in defeat. “However, I refuse to sing or dance or talk that much.”
“I can work with that,” he promised with a smile that lit his whole face.
“What’s the show?” I asked as I played with the clasp on my brand new, ridiculously overpriced purse.
“It’s a surprise. I don’t even know. Bob the beaver and Roger the rabbit are writing it,” he said as he absently smoothed my hair back.
“Holy hell, that sounds dangerous. Roger’s a perv. If he writes a song and dance filled Debbie Does Dallas , I’m out.”
“Me too,” Dad agreed with a laugh and a shudder. “Let’s just wait and see what they come up with. It might be fun and we’ll get to spend some real quality time together.”
Famous last words.
CHAPTER 2
“No, no, no, I’m not writing the show. I’m the set designer,” Roger the rabbit Shifter slash my therapist assured me with a doctor-ly chuckle. “Bob the beaver writes all the shows.”
“Did he write the last two?” I inquired with raised brows as I made myself comfortable on Roger’s offensively plaid office couch.
“Um… yes,” he whispered and blanched. “Those were dark times for Bob.”
“And the people who got eaten and stabbed? I’m guessing those were dark times for them too?” I added as I pinched the bridge of my nose and winced.
“Well, yes. We had quite a few lawsuits on our
“Nope,” I said with my eyes squeezed shut so hard I felt a headache coming on.
“Come on Zelda,” Dad pleaded.
I could hear him placing more items on the table and I was seconds away from shrinking the clothing on his body to extra small. This was so unfair.
“You listen to me,” I hissed as I sat on my hands and kept my eyes firmly closed. It was too risky to have the use of my hands. I’d either zap him, which wasn’t nice, or I’d grab the stash on the table and run. Neither scenario was attractive or happening. “I’m a witch who heals dumb ass Shifters when they get booboos. I do not have the time to humiliate myself in front of the masses on stage. I do fine with that in my daily life. The answer is a big, fat, hairy no.”
“All right then.” He sighed dramatically. “I suppose Sassy might like the black Hermes Birkin bag with the gold hardware.”
“Do you hate me?” I shouted as I threw myself over the bag like it was a fumbled football in the Super Bowl. “Sassy’s coloring does not go with this bag. It would look much better carried by someone with red hair. And you’re a total dick.”
“I’ve been called far worse,” he replied with a chuckle and then sighed dramatically. “All of this is yours. I was just hoping you would humor an old warlock. I so wanted to be in charge of an extravaganza.”
He gently pried me off of the bag and placed it in my arms along with all the other apparel. I stared down at my windfall and wanted to cry. Dad sat down next to me and put his head in his hands… and he wasn’t trying to trick me anymore. Shit.
“I don’t need this stuff. You can give the bag to Saaaa… ssaaay,” I whispered as I felt the need to either put my head between my knees or breathe into a paper bag. “You have to stop spending money on me. I don’t deserve any of it. I called you a dick. I’m pretty sure daughters calling their fathers dicks isn’t good.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” he assured me as he put his arms around me and squeezed. “I wasn’t there for your teenage years so you owe me about four years of calling me a dick.”
“Only four?” I asked with a small grin.
“Okay, five,” Dad conceded generously with an adorable lopsided grin.
We sat in silence for a few minutes. It felt so nice to be held by him. I was thirty, but in his arms I was a little girl—a wanted and adored little girl.
“I can’t believe I’m going to say this… but I’ll think about it,” I muttered as I shook my head in defeat. “However, I refuse to sing or dance or talk that much.”
“I can work with that,” he promised with a smile that lit his whole face.
“What’s the show?” I asked as I played with the clasp on my brand new, ridiculously overpriced purse.
“It’s a surprise. I don’t even know. Bob the beaver and Roger the rabbit are writing it,” he said as he absently smoothed my hair back.
“Holy hell, that sounds dangerous. Roger’s a perv. If he writes a song and dance filled Debbie Does Dallas , I’m out.”
“Me too,” Dad agreed with a laugh and a shudder. “Let’s just wait and see what they come up with. It might be fun and we’ll get to spend some real quality time together.”
Famous last words.
CHAPTER 2
“No, no, no, I’m not writing the show. I’m the set designer,” Roger the rabbit Shifter slash my therapist assured me with a doctor-ly chuckle. “Bob the beaver writes all the shows.”
“Did he write the last two?” I inquired with raised brows as I made myself comfortable on Roger’s offensively plaid office couch.
“Um… yes,” he whispered and blanched. “Those were dark times for Bob.”
“And the people who got eaten and stabbed? I’m guessing those were dark times for them too?” I added as I pinched the bridge of my nose and winced.
“Well, yes. We had quite a few lawsuits on our
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