Nosey Rosie by Julia Mills & Love Spells

Author:Julia Mills & Love Spells [Mills, Julia & Spells, Love]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-11-11T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Arriving at the farthest point outside the swamp I'd been to since coming in beautiful downtown Hairy Wort, I was happy to get a break from the exhaustive explanations. Not only was Max a font of information, but as always, the Dragonettes knew damn near everything about everything. Thankfully, they did finally answer my question about why the Grunches were all of a sudden making their presence known and working with a Warlock when having partners was just not their thing.

“You see, the Grunches are very, very, very old. They live almost as long as we do,” Taffy clarified. “They were born out of the remnants of ash and brimstone Demons left at the entrances to Hell. Not only is their magic evil, but it is strong and grows stronger every time any living creature is killed by anything from the Underworld.”

“Great, and let me guess, they love Louisiana.”

“Yes, but they love anywhere that Supernaturals congregate. Sure, they get power from the death of a human or a regular animal who is killed by a Demon or what have you, but the magic they draw from the remains of a Mystical Creature is infinitely more powerful. They need it. They crave it. And they jump at the chance to be part of the killing because they can ingest the enchantment right after the soul has left the body. It is a truly heady and spiritual experience for a Grunch.”

“Okay…yuck. Sorry, I asked.”

The moon in the sky and the watch on my wrist (Yeah, I was gonna try some mumbo jumbo about how I could read the moon and the stars to tell time but y’all know me too well, so, I’ll pass.) said we were about an hour early – just enough time to traipse through the wet, muggy, armpit of Louisiana to the Marsh of the Dead and find the Mound of the Grunch. (Doesn’t sound ominous at all, right? Riiigggghhhhtttt.)

Luckily, at least I'm hoping it was luckily, for us, Freddie geeked out over all forms of geography, always had. Her specialty was the weird and unusual (Yep, she fits right in with us.) and she has a photographic or extra-special or whatever ma-who-za-jiggit – oh, dammit anyway, the girl can remember anything and everything she's ever read.

Following her handwritten map, we hiked, I bitched under my breath, and before I knew it, we were at the first ‘X' on the map. (If you're wondering, I couldn't zap us there because I'd never been there before. Sure, I probably could've gotten us close, but would you want to fall out of magical teleportation into a Gator's open mouth? Yeah, me neither, soooooo…)

It was only a little ways more, and voilà, we were about a hundred yards from the Mound of the Grunch behind a two-and-a-half-foot wall of brambles, briars, decaying leaves, and good old-fashioned swamp slime. Taking in the scenery, if that's what you could call it, I was reminded of that part in one of those old B movies set in a summer camp Daisy and I love to watch on Friday Night Sammie Terry Theatre.

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