“Thanks, now where were we?”
“Your warlock,” Gladys ever so kindly reminded while she all but tapped her toe.
Again, Poppy attempted to hide her surprise, because no one but her seemed to think a male assignment was out of the ordinary. “He comes with room and board, right?”
“They all do, honey. Some roomier and board-ier than others.”
“But a warlock? That’s a guy witch.” Guy witches had familiars? Was that common? This was nothing like Sabrina, The Teenage Witch.
Her warlock’s name was Ricardo—or Rick, as he preferred to be called—Delassantos, and he lived just outside of NYC in a fully refurbished warehouse—which, according to Calamity, was a sweet start to a familiar/warlock relationship—even if he was a man. Digs were very important, as outlined by Calamity and her stories about some of her quirkier living quarters as a familiar.
Rick, along with his partner, was a property developer/entrepreneur, self-made and worth millions, which was also good if you listened to Calamity and again, despite the fact that he was a man. A rich warlock meant no scrounging for cash to buy your supper by performing cheap magic tricks in the subway.
All that aside, she couldn’t wrap her head around the idea that she was supposed to advise a man. Oh, this poor soul Ricardo/Rick was in for some good times.
Gladys tapped the sill of the window in front of her and pointed, using her festively painted orange-and-black fingernail. “You got a problem with a warlock? Because you can always go over to the line to your left and ask for a refund. The Wish I Were Anywhere But Here line. See it?”
She did, and it was pretty dang short. Which spoke volumes on behalf of familiar customer service.
“Aw, hell no you won’t!” Calamity whisper-yelled as she paced the ledge of the window. “You don’t wanna know what happens to complainers in the realm. You get a reputation for being difficult. Why do you think I haven’t asked for a refund for the blood-lover here? Because if nothing else, at least she mentally resides in this century. Like I told you before, no way was I gonna end up with one of those old-ass mothereffers who live in a drafty castle with no Wi-Fi or even electricity while I snuggle up to a herd of sheep on a moor in No Mans Land.”
Marty snaked her head around Poppy’s shoulder and clucked her tongue. “Gosh, I’m hungry. I feel like a snack, Calamity. How do you feel about being my snack?” she asked, her words dripping with menacing sarcasm. “Last chance to shut that yap of yours before I pick your flesh from my teeth with your tiny bones.”
Calamity’s fur rippled, but her tone was instantly contrite. “Okay, fine. Sorry. I’m just saying, bad shit happens when you complain. Now take your lumps and like it, newb.”
Gladys blinked, her blue-frosted eyes wide, her lips pursed into a thin line as she waited for an answer. “So?”
Poppy gulped, shifting her stance. “Nope, Gladys. Not a one. I’m here to do whatever I’m supposed to do. You’ll never hear Poppy McGuillicuddy complain.”
Gladys thrust some paper through the small peephole and pursed her thin lips. “Then sign there and initial here and then I’ll need a blood sample.”
Twisting the length of her ponytail, she grew more agitated. “Sign? What am I signing?”
“Your life away, of course.” Gladys gave her a “duh, stupid” look, as though she were the one who was half-baked for thinking she was doing anything else but.
Her eyes flew open wide, her legs growing limp. “My life?”
Gladys sighed, her plump shoulders, encased in a sweatshirt with a shiny bedazzled purple pumpkin, rose and fell in clear disgust. “This says you’ll serve your warlock until one of you goes to the great beyond. It’s all very standard. Didn’t the familiar who inducted you tell you that?”
Poppy looked to Calamity, who nodded. “Oh, yeah. I forgot to tell you. This is a lifetime gig. When you sign on, you sign on for life.”
All that certainty she’d been lobbing around like so much confetti evaporated into thin air and panic began to set in. “Life?” she squeaked. That was crazy. How could she promise a lifetime to someone she didn’t even know? Didn’t you only do that when you got married?
But Gladys was having none of it, as indicated by her scowl. “Look, Ms. McGuillicuddy, if you have a problem, there’s a line for it, but you’re holding up this one, and I won’t have my efficiency rating slip because of you. Now either sign or move the heck along.”
Wow. Harsh. “What happens if I don’t sign?” She had to ask. She wasn’t just going to sign her life away without at least some details.
“You go to the Bad Place,” Calamity whispered, her tone bespeaking unknown horrors.