Witch Is The New Black (Paris, Texas Romance #3)

There was no way to rationally reason this in her head. Instead, she opted for the if-you-can’t-see-it, it-doesn’t-exist mantra.

“Maybe if I don’t open my eyes, none of this is real.”

“Bernie girl, you’ve spent your entire sentence with your eyes closed. Open them and face the music, Sugarlumps.” Fee tickled her nose with his tail, using his paws to knead her hair.

“Mawnin’, y’all,” a soft voice murmured from above, the timbre deep and rich with southern tinges. A voice that sounded just like Lou Rawls.

Holy shitballs of fire. Lou Rawls was here, too?

Bernie rolled to her side, her eyes wide open now. She grabbed Fee and pulled him close to her chest, her heart pounding so violently, she heard it in her ears. “Who was that, Fee?”

“It was just me, ma’am.”

Bernie’s breathing quickened, but no way was she looking up. “Are the testicles talking, Fee? Please tell me the testicles don’t sound like Lou Rawls and they aren’t talking.”

Fee made a clucking noise while he struggled out of her grip. “Can’t do that.”

“Where the hell are we and why are there talking testicles involved?” Her panic was taking on a new but familiar feel. Much like the panic she’d experienced when the Boston PD had first arrested her after finding her in the bank vault of Boston First Mutual.

Still, the Boston PD didn’t have talking testicles. Well, not technically—maybe metaphorically. This created a whole other level of panic in the pit of her stomach.

“Bernie baby, didn’t you listen to anything Baba Yaga said?”

Fee finally came into focus, his dark fur sitting against a grassy backdrop, with nothing but puffy white clouds above his head and the glare of the angry sun on his glittering tiara beneath.

“I heard ‘you flew too long under the radar, Bernice’ and something about Paris blah, blah, blah and then Texas.” Yep, that was about the gist of it.

Fee fell back on his haunches and blinked at her. “Aw, hell, Bernie. You hafta stop escapin’ to that place in your mind where this isn’t all happening. Because, newsflash, it’s happening. Right here in Children of The Corn country. And the testicles belong to a bull in a pasture that goes on for miles and miles with no freakin’ end in sight.”

A pasture. Okay. That connected with Texas, for sure. “And the bull talks?” She winced at her question.

Of course he talked. Cats talk and wear tutus, and witches exist, Bernie Sutton.

“He does, ma’am,” the quote-end quote bull said, a hint of amusement in his tone.

“Why do the testicles, er…I mean, bull, sound like Lou Rawls?”

The bull chuckled, deep and resonant. “That’s a mighty fine compliment, pretty lady, but most folks just call me Bitty. Good to meet ya. I’d offer ya a hand up, but well, you know, I’m all two left testicles.”

“Hah!” Fee squawked, jumping in the air and rolling to his back. “The testicles made a funny. You know, left feet—testicles? I love it here already!”

Bernie shook her head, using the heels of her feet and hands to scoot backward. “Talking bulls? Not funny, Fee.”

Fee rolled upright to rub up against her side. “Okay, cool your jets. I hear hysteria in your voice and it reminds me that I forget sometimes you’re still not used to our world, where crazy shit happens every day. So let’s talk this out.”

She sucked in air that felt as though it had just escaped an oven. “Talk me down, Fee. Hurry. Before I pass out.”

“Did you even hear the terms of your parole, Bernie girl?”

She pulled her legs close to her chest and let her chin rest on her knees with a sheepish gaze focused solely on Fee. She wasn’t ready to look at Bitty just yet. “Well, not all of it.”

“You heard none of it,” Fee admonished.

Bernie let her head hang in shame. “Guilt be my name. You’re right. I heard none of it. So what happens next?”

Fee turned his back on her and began weaving in and out of Bitty’s legs. “So here’s the deal. I am so your familiar. Whether you like it or not. So sayeth that lunatic with a scrunchie and a ‘Total Eclipse of The Heart’ fetish. No one else applied for the job, so suck it.”

“Aren’t I the luckiest witch ever?”

Bernie actually bit back a smile. She’d never tell him, but she was relieved Fee was here with her, wherever here was, talking testicles who sounded like Lou Rawls and all.

“I could’ve applied to mentor that head case over in cellblock B, you know. At least she’d be grateful.”

“The one who eats toilet paper and hoards her hair from her brush?”

“The one and only.”