1
Mr. Wiggles
From clubbing at popular urban hot spots to in-home versions complete with bottomless margaritas and a fifteen-season binge-watch of Supernatural, Girls’ Nights were long-standing traditions. Some would say a rite of passage. And they had more variations than Yoplait yogurt … or sex toys.
Rose was an expert on both.
Her fondness for dairy rivaled only her adoration for Jensen Ackles, but her familiarity with the latter? Pure survival. Poor Mr. Wiggles’s batteries had been replaced twice already this week alone, and she predicted at least one more swap-out in her future before the weekend came.
There’d been that backroom tryst a few months ago with a certain tattooed hottie, but as pleasurable an experience as it had been, one drop of moisture couldn’t stop a raging wildfire. It was either take matters into her own hands or be persona non grata on Smokey Bear’s hit list.
But tonight’s GN theme didn’t include clubbing attire, alcohol, or the five-speed waterproof vibrator tucked in her weekend underwear drawer, and instead, required all-black hoodies, the cover of night, and the gigantic horse trailer she’d rented earlier that morning.
Side-seat driving, Rose swung an arm in front of her triplet, nearly crushing Vi’s nose as she pointed to the gravel lane they’d nearly missed. “There! On the left! Kill the lights and make the turn! Quick!”
Vi eased the truck to the left but kept the headlights on. “If I can’t see, how long do you think it will be until I drive us into a ditch? I’m not exactly on Lady Luck’s favorite persons list.”
From the backseat, Olive, the youngest Maxwell triplet, snortled. “That’s putting it mildly.”
Vi aimed a glare into the rearview mirror. “Hey!”
“What? I was just showing my sisterly support. I was agreeing with you!”
“Well, stop.”
Rose rolled her eyes even though no one could see the gesture in the truck’s dark cab. “If you don’t turn off the lights, someone will see us coming and then this mission ends before it even begins.”
And the whole point of Operation Equine Freedom was to get in, out, and deliver the two nearly emaciated mares she’d seen on her drive earlier that day to their forever homes where they’d be loved and cared for … and not whatever the hell the current owners had done.
Rose had passed the run-down barn on her way into the city after a failed meditation class at Jones Beach, and it had taken everything in her not to liberate the poor horses right then and there—sans plan and backup. But she’d channeled her youngest sister, Professor Olive McBrainy Maxwell, and refrained from any rash decisions.
Until now.
“Who the hell’s going to see us? We’re in the middle of nowhere.” Harper Jacobs, the fourth woman in their quartet of liberators, glanced out the side window into the abyss of darkness. With her green-glowing succubus eyes, she could see better than the three witchy triplets combined. “Even if Vi went supernova again and lit up the sky from here to Connecticut, there’s no one within a two-mile distance.”
The oldest triplet released a hefty sigh. “Seriously? Is this Pick on Violet Day? That happened one time, and only because Rose told me I shouldn’t hold back. The second I realized Sparky was off-roading, I reined it in pretty damn quick if I don’t say so myself.”
“Not quick enough to stop the news station from reporting that we were about to undergo a real-life Independence Day à la Will Smith…”
Rose’s laugh ended on a snort and a glare from Vi. “What? She’s not wrong … but control will come with time. You’ll see…”
“I should only live so long,” Vi muttered grumpily.
Unlike Rose and Olive, who’d exhibited their witchy powers at eight years of age like most in the magical community, Vi’s powers hadn’t manifested until the spry age of thirty-two. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t have been a big deal, but as the eldest Maxwell triplet, Supernatural law dictated that Vi would become the next Prima—aka witch leader—a position their grandma Edie now held.
A magicless Prima was a bit like having a swim instructor who’d never swum a day in their life. It didn’t happen. As the second oldest in the Magical Triad, Rose had assumed the role and spent every waking moment of her childhood—and hell, adulthood, too—training for it.
Until six months ago when Vi’s abilities surfaced and Magic itself announced her as the next Prima.
Nearly immediately, Rose could breathe. As much as she loved their grandma, standing by her side as the Prima Apparent had never felt right, and it was because it had never been her path.
It was Violet’s.
A baby witch wrapped up in an adult-sized package, Vi nicknamed her ever-growing Magic “Sparky” because of its love of lighting things up in displays worthy of a Disney light show. At the rate of escalation, it wouldn’t be long before she met—and even surpassed—their grandma, and even though her sister would never express her worries aloud, Rose knew it weighed on Vi like an anvil.
Anyone would feel the pressure. Goddess knows she had when she’d been the Prima Apparent. But what Rose knew that Vi didn’t yet see was that she’d be great at it. Not at all like Grandma Edie, no. She’d put her own unique stamp on the Prima title and provide a much-needed stir in the Supernatural community.
“Supernova aside…” Rose steered the conversation away from Vi’s Magic and received a grateful look from her sister. “We’re on Long Island for Goddess’s sake. We can still be seen.”
Harper cocked an auburn eyebrow. “Are we in Manhattan?”
“No.”
“Brooklyn?”
“No.”
“Queens?” At Rose’s pursed lips, Harper waved an I-told-you-so finger in front of her nose. “Exactly my point. If we’re not in one of the boroughs, we’re in the middle of nowhere. They probably don’t even have a decent pleasure club out here.”
All eyes temporarily flickered to the succubus demon.
Copyright © 2023 by April Asher
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