\n\u201cWhy can\u2019t you just turn Jason into a frog?\u201d Boise Davenport frowned, brushing back a loose strand of her unnaturally red hair.\n<\/p>\n
\nWe were sitting in my living room, which was doubling as my office, as business was slow.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThat\u2019s not the sort of thing I do. No matter how much someone might deserve it,\u201d I said. Why does everyone always want a frog?<\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nBoise (real name Janet Kretzel) hit it big on one of those reality shows where the producers strand you in the tropics with little in the way of clothing. By the end of the first episode, #RedBoise was trending.\n<\/p>\n \nShe was attempting to parley that popularity into an acting career but her big break was being held up by an intransigent casting director who she implied was a candidate for #MeToo. Hence the amphibious transformation request.\n<\/p>\n \nBoise removed her over-sized sunglasses, revealing green eyes with a conspiratorial bent. \u201cNot necessarily a frog. A badger or a groundhog would do. It doesn\u2019t even have to be an animal. Just something to get him out of the way. Make him allergic to Wi-Fi and he\u2019ll have to move to the woods in West Virginia.\u201d She smiled at me with perfect white teeth. Those caps must have set her back at least ten grand.\n<\/p>\n \nI shook my head. \u201cIn my practice, I like to be constructive. Build up my clients, rather than tear down others.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhat about that Supreme Court Justice you put a hex on?\u201d She pointed to the blown up, framed cover of LA Magazine <\/em>hanging on the wall. A professional hair and make-up job and the talents of a skilled Photoshop artist resulted in the Platonic Ideal of myself above the caption \u201cMeet the Face of the #NewResistance: Jennifer Griffiths is The Witch of Sherman Oaks.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nAt Polliwog Park the day before the confirmation vote, I burned sage, coriander, dandelion roots, and a photo of Smirking Judge Punchable Face in a silver chalice, while I danced and chanted a curse that my Welsh grandmother taught me. So many crazy things happen in LA every day, but my video went viral. The raccoon carrying her babies in the background might have helped. I was in Variety, Deadline, <\/em>and interviewed by Don Lemon on CNN.\n<\/p>\n \nI shrugged. \u201cYou\u2019ll notice he\u2019s still on the court. The whole exercise was more cathartic than cabalistic.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nShe stared at me, a blank look on her face.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThat means liberating,\u201d I said.\n<\/p>\n \nShe snorted. \u201cI know what cabalistic means.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThis conversation needed to get back on track. Not only would Boise be good repeat business, but she was a hot commodity. Word would get around. The clients would return. If they didn\u2019t, by the end of the month I\u2019d be living out of my Prius.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cA good witch is part life-coach, part therapist,\u201d I said.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI already have a life-coach and <\/em>a therapist.\u201d She put down her coffee and jabbed a finger at me. \u201cWhat I don\u2019t have, but what I need, is a witch who can put the whammy on Jason Sugarman, so I can get my movie career out of first gear.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI can\u2019t just wiggle my nose.\u201d I smiled sheepishly. \u201cLet\u2019s work on creating a positive energy field around you. I have these marvelous scented candles handcrafted by Bhutan monks. They\u2019re made of the wax from Asian pears grown in the Chele Le Grove. That\u2019s a virgin forest where no machinery of any type is permitted. Light the candles before you go to sleep and repeat a mantra that I\u2019ll give you. I guarantee your aura will be a deep blue in no time.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nBoise stood. \u201cThis is ridiculous.\u201d She pulled out her phone. \u201cRefused to take my concerns seriously.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhat are you doing?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI\u2019m one-starring you on Yelp. Office d\u00e9cor embarrassingly outdated. And the coffee is weak.\u201d She tapped away as she walked out the door.\n<\/p>\n \n \n<\/p>\n \nI struck the punching bag with a blazing left-right-left combination, followed up with an elbow, then a knee strike. I reset and kicked the bag with my bare right foot.\n<\/p>\n \nKicking isn\u2019t a completely accurate description. In Pradal Serey, you don\u2019t snap your leg. Instead you generate power by rotating your hips, thus delivering maximum force against your target. And it firms up your glutes. I continued to imagine Boise as the bag, pummeling her with all my rage.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cSomeone\u2019s fired up,\u201d said Daevy Sayavong, my kick-boxing coach. She\u2019s 5\u20193\u201d, two inches shorter than me, but all muscle beneath her Dodgers t-shirt and shorts. Her mop of jet-black hair and intense eyes contrasted with her eternally goofy grin.\n<\/p>\n \nGasping, I asked, \u201cWhy would you say that?\u201d Left. Right. Right elbow. Left elbow. Right knee strike. Left kick. Left knee strike. Right kick.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cTake a minute, catch your breath, and grab a drink. Then I\u2019ll let you have a go at me.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI nodded, retreated from the bag, and sat. While sweat dripped down my forehead and stung my eyes, I chugged an organic, non-GMO electrolyte, swapped out my bag gloves for sparring gloves, and slipped the chest protector over my tank top.\n<\/p>\n \nThe gym was empty except for Daevy and me. Checkerboard-style black and gray pads covered the floor. Exercise equipment crowded along the far wall. Above me hung the flag of Cambodia: two blue stripes and one red with Angkor Wat in the center.\n<\/p>\n \nThe icepick-sharp keyboard stabs of Duran Duran\u2019s \u201cA View to A Kill\u201d blared from the sound system. A ten-year-old Daevy escaped the killing fields by walking all the way to Thailand. She came to America as a refugee in the mid 80s and fell shamelessly in love with New Wave bands.\n<\/p>\n \nI met Daevy in the center of the gym. We touched gloves and began to spar. Daevy\u2019s a pro. No way I can keep up with her. Normally she doesn\u2019t go full out. Her students don\u2019t learn much when they\u2019re flat on the mat. But today, she wasn\u2019t holding back.\n<\/p>\n \nI successfully blocked a kick from the right, but before I could blink, she was on the other side of me, and dropped me with an elbow.\n<\/p>\n \nShe offered a hand. \u201cAre you going to tell me what\u2019s bothering you?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNope,\u201d I mumbled through my mouth guard, getting to my feet. I launched right-left-right, elbow, and knee strike. She stopped them all.\n<\/p>\n \nSynthesizers and saxophones soared. \u201cGold\u201d by Spandau Ballet was playing now.\n<\/p>\n \nI blocked a flurry of punches, but a quick knee felled me.\n<\/p>\n \nShe stood over me. \u201cSomeone\u2019s not focused.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI was breathing too heavily to answer. Three more knockdowns and fifteen minutes later we\u2019re sitting on the bench.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou\u2019re not here today, Jen.\u201d She tapped the side of her head.\n<\/p>\n \nI frowned. \u201cIt\u2019s business. Lost another client.\u201d I told her about Boise.\n<\/p>\n \nDaevy shrugged and pointed to my heart. \u201cThe wisest person I know once told me that success is all in here.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIf I\u2019m the wisest person you know, then you\u2019ve got bigger problems than me.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cSome air-headed reality-star trying to extend her fifteen minutes doesn\u2019t want to hire you? You\u2019re better off without her.\u201d She put her hand on my shoulder. \u201cRemember Jim with his PTSD? You help real people with real problems.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI appreciated Daevy\u2019s efforts, but her pep talk wasn\u2019t going to pay the rent. I hit the shower, let the water flow over my aching muscles, and tried to forget about everything. It worked until the hot water ran out.\n<\/p>\n \nI stepped out of the shower, dried off, got dressed, and pulled my hair back into a ponytail. I found Daevy in the gym. Her smile was missing, replaced by a look of concern.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou\u2019ve got a potential client waiting,\u201d she said.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHere?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nDaevy nodded. \u201cYeah. Says he went to your home, but got no answer. But Mrs. Beanpole noticed him and said where to find you. He\u2019s outside. If you want, I can run him off.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhy? Are you getting a bad vibe from him?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nDaevy shook her head. \u201cNot bad, just odd.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI\u2019m not in a position to turn down clients. Why don\u2019t you come out with me? If things get crazy, it\u2019ll be two against one.\u201d Not that Daevy needed any help to take down weirdos.\n<\/p>\n \nWe stepped outside into the midday sun, and I spotted him leaning against a mailbox. Daevy was right. This guy looked off. He was dressed like an extra from the latest unnecessary Robin Hood <\/em>remake: a green vest over a white shirt, green tights, a triangular felt hat, and a leather punch looped over his shoulder. Plus, he wore a cape!\n<\/p>\n \nHe saw us standing at the gym entrance, straightened up, and strode toward us with a definite sense of purpose. He stopped three feet before me, removed his hat, dropped to one knee, and bowed.\n<\/p>\n \nI glanced at Daevy who rolled her eyes.\n<\/p>\n \nIn an accent I couldn\u2019t quite place, the man in green said, \u201cWell met, Jennifer Griffiths, The Witch of Sherman Oaks. I am Braxtiaran Darahenij and I urgently need your assistance.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n \nTen minutes later, I was sipping my unsweetened iced tea in the far corner booth of the Boulevard Caf\u00e9. Brax (no way I was trying to pronounce his full name) ordered a milk and wasn\u2019t too pleased.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThis beverage is the product of unhappy bovines herded into exceedingly confined circumstances.\u201d He slammed the glass to the table. \u201cIt has been scorched, subjected to some malevolent mechanical process, and denuded of its essential nutrients. It is unworthy of being drunk.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nBrax had dirty blonde hair, an infectious smile, and a strong chin. I was still trying to place his accent. New Zealand?\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYeah, I do hate denuded milk.\u201d I fake-frowned in mock sympathy. \u201cYou said you needed my assistance?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYes!\u201d He held up a smartphone. \u201cThis ingenious device allowed me to peruse the ratings of witches and others imbued with the supernatural in the vicinity. You have received many outstanding testimonials. Save for this most recent assessment: \u2018Refused to turn the bastard who\u2019s ruining my career into a frog.\u2019\u201d His blue eyes, the color of Big Bear Lake, twinkled. \u201cYou are not only a lady of immense power and rare beauty, but of great integrity.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nMy face burned red. \u201cI hope you\u2019re not looking for help with a casting call.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nHe gave me a bewildered look. \u201cNo, I require your aid in defeating the Evil Sorcerer Crixon.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cEvil Sorcerer Crixon<\/em>?\u201d I sighed.\n<\/p>\n \nHe nodded. \u201cThe Spiteful One\u2019s followers plan to breach the dimensional barrier that protects your planet. They will open the portal allowing Crixon to manifest himself in all his malevolence.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI nodded politely and sipped my tea.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI know what you\u2019re thinking,\u201d Brax said.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cReally?\u201d Why didn\u2019t I ask Daevy to come along? How am I going to get out of here? What asylum did you escape from?<\/em>\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhy not prevent the portal from opening, thus stopping the Sorcerer before he even arrives?\u201d Brax shook his head. \u201cThe threat would never be truly gone, for the portal could open at any time. Crixon must be defeated here. Once that is done, the barrier cannot be breached for another 144,000 years.\u201d He paused. \u201cThat\u2019s Thacriulean years, of course.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOf course.\u201d Time to make a break for it. I gulped the rest of my tea and stood. \u201cLook, Brax. This all seems very interesting, but I have to go, I\u2019m exp\u2014\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cBut you can\u2019t leave yet. We haven\u2019t even discussed your payment.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cPayment?\u201d I returned to my seat.\n<\/p>\n \nHe reached into his pouch and pulled out a fist of gold coins. They rattled on the table. \u201cWill this be sufficient recompense?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nMy eyes widened. I picked up one of the coins. Heavy. A Krugerrand? Was Brax\u2019s accent South African?\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThe portal will open in your Mojave Desert. All the dedicated servants of Crixon: the duskmouths, the gallcrackles, and Dadan Sanguis, his high priestess, will be present at the ceremony.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThe desert? You mean like Burning Man?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nBrax nodded. \u201cThere will be a figure aflame. That is a necessary prerequisite for the portal to materialize.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nNow it all made sense. Brax was larping one of the Merry Men because he\u2019s some kind of Renaissance Fair performer. And he needed me to fill a role. \u201cIs this a union gig? Because I\u2019m no longer in Actor\u2019s Equity.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNo guild membership is required to oppose the sorcerer.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI rubbed the coin between my fingers. I needed to make sure this was really gold, but this might be the break I\u2019d been waiting for. \u201cWhat exactly do you need me to do?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI would never presume to tell a witch how to use her powers.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nHis act was beginning to wear. \u201cI\u2019m not asking how, but what?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou stand upon the greensward, challenge the Sorcerer, and use your magic to defeat him. Once vanquished he will return to his home dimension and the portal will close.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhere in the desert?\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThe closest populace is a village called Baker.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI knew it. Off I-15. Little place to grab gas and snacks on the way to Vegas. \u201cWhen is this?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThe ceremony begins an hour before sundown.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cToday?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYes, time is of the essence.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI gathered up the coins and slipped them into my purse. \u201cI sure don\u2019t want to disappoint the duskcrackles and gallmouths, but we\u2019ll have to make a couple of stops first.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n \n\u201cI have no idea who this is.\u201d My buddy Arman, the proprietor of 24-7 Pawn, held the gold coin in his stubby fingers and displayed the profile of a lady in a crown. \u201cOr what the hell this is.\u201d He flipped the coin over. The reverse featured some kind of half-beaver, half-dinosaur creature. \u201cNo numismatic value whatsoever.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cBut it is gold, right?\u201d I asked.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYeah, the tests say it\u2019s gold.\u201d He glanced at the stack of coins on the counter. \u201cWhere\u2019d you even get these, anyway?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nBrax, further down the counter and fascinated with an over-sized metronome, answered, \u201cThey come direct from the Pagash Treasury, a reward from my good friend, the Countess Battenstrong.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nArman raised a bushy eyebrow. \u201cThe Countess Battenstrong?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI\u2019m sure it\u2019s totally legit.\u201d I gathered up the coins. \u201cLet\u2019s finish up in back.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI left Brax to the metronome, while Arman and I worked out a deal. I convinced him to trade the gold for cash, enough to pay off all my credit cards, rent an office that wasn\u2019t attached to my kitchen, and think about a vacation. Arman agreed not to report the transaction. I\u2019m a good liberal and think everyone should pay their taxes, especially the multinationals that run this country. But does the government need more from me? What are they going to do with it? Drone strike another wedding party in Yemen?\n<\/p>\n \nNext stop: my place. I changed into my favorite turquoise golf shirt, dressy khaki shorts, and these fabulous ankle boots I discovered in a little boutique in West Hollywood. Black leather with a silver buckle and a two-inch heel. No time to go hit the salon. I wore my hair up, secured with a copper jaw-clip.\n<\/p>\n \nI called my friend Laura and let her know about this latest gig and had her track my iPhone. Into my purse I slipped three bottles of water and a five-shot .38 caliber revolver. Belonged to my granddad. I knew martial arts, but Brax, as charming and goofy as he was, had height, weight, and reach on me. The gun made for a great equalizer, just in case.\n<\/p>\n \nThree hours later, we were in my Prius heading north on 127 out of Baker toward Death Valley. The sun low in the western sky. The GPS instructed me to turn right onto a dirt road cutting across the desert.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIs this really the way?\u201d I asked.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIndeed. Follow this path and we will arrive at the site of Venomous One\u2019s materialization.\u201d Brax annoyingly refused to break character.\n<\/p>\n \nThe road was bumpy but survivable by keeping the speed under ten mph. We drove past miles of still landscape: brown rocks, Joshua trees, and sand, but not a single living creature. After thirty minutes or so, the road twisted around a mountain. Flames became visible in the distance.\n<\/p>\n \nBrax muttered something in a foreign language, then said, \u201cStop here.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI pointed to the GPS. \u201cWe still have a mile to go.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nHe shook his head. \u201cWe will approach on foot.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI pulled off the \u2018road\u2019, parked on a flat spot, and checked my phone: no bars. I stepped out of the air-conditioned car into the blazing heat. The desert wind sucked the moisture right out of me.\n<\/p>\n \nWe walked toward the fire, Brax leading the way. I chugged half a bottle of water and offered the rest to Brax. He declined.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cAren\u2019t you hot in that getup?\u201d I asked.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWe have far greater concerns than my comfort.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nNo sound, but the wind and the crunch of our footsteps. As we grew closer, I could see the burning figure was neither a man nor boy. It had multiple tentacles, like a giant flaming squid. Had to be fifty feet tall. The wind died down. A low noise in the distance. Not shouting or chanting, not even sure it was voices. More like growling.\n<\/p>\n \nTen minutes later we were at the camp, for lack of a better word. Decidedly low-tech. No ticket takers, info booth, or porta-potties. I couldn\u2019t even see where everyone parked.\n<\/p>\n \nThe giant burning squid overlooked a green circle maybe one hundred feet in diameter. A giant putting green incongruously placed in the middle of the desert.\n<\/p>\n \nBrax led me to a large boulder where we perched ourselves to gain an unobstructed view of the ceremony.\n<\/p>\n \nScores of cosplayers sat at edge of the circle. Most were wearing gray rubber, full-body suits, complete with pointed ears and tusks. Brax said those were the duskmouths. Not sure how they managed to sit down with their knees bending the wrong way. One grabbed a passing scorpion, and it looked like he shoved it in his mouth. Must be the heat getting to me. I drank more water.\n<\/p>\n \nBrax pointed out the gallcrackles: orange, bald, and equipped with a pair of realistic-looking prosthetic arms. The arms appeared to be functional, as one of the gallcrackles used all four to toss wood at the base of the flaming squid. Inside that guy must be sweating up a storm. Got to give them credit; these people were serious about putting on their show.\n<\/p>\n \nI chugged my last bottle of water. I hopped up and walked over to the closest duskmouth. I scrunched up my nose at the odor from his costume. Like a skunk drowning in burning motor oil. \u201cHey, do you have anything to drink?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nHe gurgled at me unintelligibly.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI appreciate your commitment to the role, but I\u2019m parched. I need something before I do the big act.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nHe emitted a high-pitched wail and blue smoke emerged from his nostrils and ears.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWow that\u2019s some good effect,\u201d I muttered to myself as I walked back to Brax. \u201cI need some water.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNot now.\u201d He pointed to the circle. \u201cThe high priestess Dadan Sanguis is about to open the portal.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThe priestess was the only one not wearing a rubber-suit. She was tall, about six-feet, and built like a WWE Diva. She had platinum blond spiky hair and wore a strapless black gown that defied gravity. Don\u2019t tell me she didn\u2019t have work done. On either side of her, gallcrackles, using all four arms, pounded on drums. Da-dum, ba-dum, ba-thum.\n<\/p>\n \nThe priestess chanted, danced, pointed her arms at the heavens, and chanted some more.\n<\/p>\n \nI leaned over to Brax. \u201cWhen are we going to get to the good stuff?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cShh! He arrives.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nAbove the priestess a black hole appeared. I glanced around for projectors, but didn\u2019t see any. Then, an explosion. Gray smoke filled the air, when the smoke cleared, a man stood in the center of the green circle: The Evil Sorcerer Crixon.\n<\/p>\n \nOf course, he didn\u2019t come through the black hole. Good illusion. But the smoke was a dead giveaway. A chance to distract the audience. I should know. For three years, I was the assistant to the Astounding Melvin at Harrah\u2019s Lake Tahoe. Two shows daily. Dark on Mondays. The Reno Gazette-Journal <\/em>named us a \u201cTop Ten Entertainment Value of 2014.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nCrixon strutted around the putting green waving a wand. He was an inch or two shorter than the priestess. Salt-and-pepper hair ran down to his shoulders. He wore something resembling a purple tuxedo. The smirk on his face reminded me of a certain Supreme Court Justice.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cPrepare yourself, Jennifer. It is nearly your time.\u201d Brax put a hand on my shoulder. \u201cCrixon will announce the challenge. It\u2019s mandatory and perfunctory. No one is expected to accept. But you will. Say these words: Hyvaksin teedan hausteesy.<\/em> Then enter the greensward, where you will use your magic to defeat him and return him to Thacriulea. His minions will follow and the portal will close.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cAfter I accept the challenge, what do I say?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nBrax gave me a baffled look. \u201cYou are the witch. You know what spells are best.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cAh, improvise.\u201d I nodded. \u201cHow long should it take? I want to give the audience their money\u2019s worth. They probably don\u2019t want me to dispatch Crixon in two minutes.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nFor the first time there was concern in his eyes. \u201cDo not underestimate The Odious One. He has slashed a course of death and destruction across a dozen dimensions. I have confidence that you can defeat him and protect your world, but do not take your task lightly.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThe drums stopped. No noise but the howling wind. Crixon glanced around the circle at his followers. He shouted in a language I didn\u2019t understand.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYour turn,\u201d said Brax.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cGet some good photos of me. Something Instagramable.\u201d I handed him my purse and strode forward.\n<\/p>\n \nI stopped at the edge of the putting green. I announced in my most confident voice, \u201cHivacstyn treidlen histeersi. <\/em>\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nSilence.\n<\/p>\n \nCrixon, the priestess, the minions all stared at me.\n<\/p>\n \nI realized I flubbed my lines and gave it another go. \u201cHavivacstine treeding hosteersi.<\/em>\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nCrixon glared at me, and the duskmouths made a sound like laughter. I turned back to get help from Brax, but he was already beside me.\n<\/p>\n \nIn a booming voice Brax said, \u201cHyvaksin teedan hausteesy.<\/em>\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nCrixon nodded.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cSorry, I didn\u2019t get that right.\u201d I whispered to Brax. \u201cWhat now?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThe challenge has been accepted. Enter the greensward.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI stepped into the circle. \u201cWelcome to California.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nA look of amusement crossed Crixon\u2019s face. \u201cAh, a Terran. Who are you who dares to challenge me?\u201d He had a British accent like one of the upper crusters on Downton Abbey. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nI walked forward, trying not to trip as my heels sunk into the green, stopped about ten feet in front of him, and placed my hands on my hips. \u201cI am Jennifer Griffiths, The Witch of Sherman Oaks, Defender of the Mojave, and Face of the New Resistance.\u201d I\u2019d been rehearsing that line for hours.\n<\/p>\n \nThe gallcrackles grunted.\n<\/p>\n \nCrixon looked me over and scoffed. \u201cI sense no magic in you, Mortal. Leave now and spend your final few hours with your loved ones before I burn your world to a cinder.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNot quite, Mister.\u201d I pirouetted on my left foot, spun three hundred and sixty degrees, pointed at him with my right hand. \u201cEsgusodwch fi, syr. Faint o arian y byddai\u2019n ei gostio i gylchdroi teiars fy nghar<\/em>?\u201d It sounded impressive, but it was just Welsh for \u2018How much would it cost to get my tires rotated?\u2019 For what I was getting paid, the audience deserved something more than \u2018Abra Cadabra.\u2019\n<\/p>\n \nCrixon crossed his arms. \u201cIs there more?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI leaned forward, smiled, and said, sotto voce<\/em> \u201cBrax didn\u2019t give me a lot to go on. Say something and I\u2019ll react.\u201d I winked and stepped back.\n<\/p>\n \nCrixon raised his wand, and it sparkled with electricity. His eyes turned a flaming red. How he managed that trick, I had no idea. He uttered something unintelligible and pointed the wand at me. A lightning bolt streaked across the green, slammed into me, and knocked me backward through air. I thudded to the ground. Darkness swallowed me up.\n<\/p>\n \n \nI opened my eyes. The light was dim, almost total darkness. My body ached all over. I tried to move my leg, but something held it in place.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cJennifer, you are awake?\u201d Brax asked.\n<\/p>\n \nI squinted. A manacle attached to my right shin, the chain secured to the wall. We were in what looked like a cave. \u201cWhat the hell happened?\u201d I licked dried blood from my lower lip. I needed water. My stomach was on fire. My shirt was singed where the lightning bolt struck me, first-degree burns underneath. Damn. I really liked this shirt.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIndeed, it is Hell. I was wrong.\u201d Brax shook his head. \u201cI thought you were powerful enough to stop Crixon. I read how you placed a curse on one of your nation\u2019s greatest law-givers. You have a 4.9 rating on Yelp!\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cEnough with the act. Where are we?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cCrixon\u2019s minions transported us to this abandoned mine. It is not far from the portal.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThis isn\u2019t funny anymore.\u201d Did Brax lead me into some kind of 21st century Manson Family sacrifice? \u201cGet me out of this thing.\u201d I rattled the chain attached to my leg.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cFair Witch, I cannot as I am similarly shackled. I have attempted to extricate myself with this.\u201d He held up a rusty crowbar. \u201cSo far, I have been unsuccessful.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cKnock it off with the cosplay. These people are nuts and dangerous. We have to get out of here and find help.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nBrax frowned. \u201cI doubt your secular authorities are any match for The Caustic One. That is why I sought you out. Perhaps I should have engaged the Oracle of Beverly Hills.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cValerie? That hack? Everything she knows about being a witch, she learned from repeats of Charmed.<\/em>\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nBrax opened his mouth, but didn\u2019t say anything.\n<\/p>\n \nI needed to focus. Losing my temper wasn\u2019t going to get us out of here. \u201cSorry, Brax, that was uncalled for.\u201d I took three deep breaths. \u201cWhat\u2019s the deal with these people?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cDeal?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhat are they doing? Why are we chained up?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cCrixon is going to sacrifice you to duskmouths. As for me, he will replace my soul with dark magic and I will become a drone in his army of destruction. The very same army that he will use to conquer and enslave your world.\u201d He sighed, his face covered with resignation.\n<\/p>\n \nIt all seemed so impossible. But the gallcrackles? The portal? The lightning from Crixon\u2019s wand? I touched the burns on my stomach. Ow! That sure felt real.\n<\/p>\n \nDid I fail to block a strike from Daevy, and I\u2019m KO\u2019d on the floor of her gym, dreaming this? Or could it be another acid flashback? In either case, it doesn\u2019t matter what I do. Ride it out until I wake up or come down. But if Brax were right, the world was in danger.\n<\/p>\n \nFirst thing to do was to get out of these chains. Fortunately, whoever, or whatever, locked me up only secured one leg. My hands were free.\n<\/p>\n \nI removed my jaw-clip and my hair tumbled down. I bent the clip back-and-forth, weakening it until it snapped in half. The spring dropped into my palm and I inserted it into the manacle\u2019s lock.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhat are you doing?\u201d asked Brax.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cMy kind of magic.\u201d In one of our best illusions, The Amazing Melvin would handcuff me, stuff me in a burlap sack, and drop me into a giant aquarium. Picking this lock with two free hands while dry wasn\u2019t a challenge. In less than thirty seconds the lock popped open. I removed the manacle, stood, and stretched.\n<\/p>\n \nBrax\u2019s lock proved no more difficult. \u201cNow we need to get out of here without being spotted and call for help.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nBrax shook his head. \u201cYour authorities are not armed with any weapons that can stop Crixon.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHe\u2019s never dealt with some of the good old boys they hire for Sheriff\u2019s deputies. They have hurting people down to an art,\u201d I said with false bravado. I wasn\u2019t sure how powerful Crixon was. I hoped Brax was overestimating him.\n<\/p>\n \nBrax stood. \u201cWe must confront him.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHe almost fricasseed me last time.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNow you are prepared for him. If you were to use the element of surprise, we would defeat him effortlessly.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNo, Brax. I don\u2019t do that sort of magic. I do spirit guiding, affirmations, herbal workshops. Not lightning bolts.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cBut I sensed great power in you.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI think that was the Pradal Serey. I don\u2019t have a wand like Hermione.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nHe eyes lit up. \u201cCan we contact this Hermione?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI think she\u2019s filming Little Women.<\/em>\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nBrax gave me a blank look.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWe have to go. Are there any guards?\u201d I asked.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI do not believe Crixon posted any. They are not concerned with us, and the duskmouths do not want to miss any portion of the ceremony.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOK, here\u2019s what we\u2019re going to do. We\u2019re going to sneak out of this mine as quietly as possible, head back to the Prius, and get the hell out of here. Once we\u2019re in cell range, I\u2019m calling in the Highway Patrol, Homeland Security, and the Marines. They\u2019ll handle Crixon.\u201d I hoped I sounded confident, because my knees were shaking.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cBut, d\u2014\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNo. We tried things your way, and I almost got bar-b-cued.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI was going to say: Does not your transportation convenience require a key to start?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nMy keys! \u201cWhere\u2019s my purse?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nBrax frowned. \u201cIt must have slipped from my grasp when the gallcrackles assaulted me.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nNo keys. Could I hotwire the Prius? Probably, given enough time, which I wasn\u2019t sure we had. But even if I were successful, I had no idea how to bypass the ignition interlock system.\n<\/p>\n \nWalk through the desert? It had to be at least twenty miles to the highway. Assuming we even went in the correct direction. And I was already dehydrated. The heat would probably get us long before we found the road.\n<\/p>\n \nI scowled. Chancing a repeat engagement with Crixon, lightning bolts, and his monsters was a crappy plan, but the only one I had. \u201cWe have to go back and get my purse.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIf we return, then we must face Crixon.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNo. I explained already. I\u2019m not a real witch. I can\u2019t take him on. We sneak in, get the keys, sneak out, and go for help.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nBrax wasn\u2019t happy, but nodded his assent. He picked up the crowbar, and we scrambled out of the mine. The entrance was in the side of a mountain a couple hundred feet above the circle. We switch-backed our way down. The duskmouths\u2019 and gallcrackles\u2019 attention was focused on the ceremony. Crixon gallivanted around the putting green using his wand to throw bolts of lightning and streams of flame. I touched my stomach where I was struck by the bolt and shuddered.\n<\/p>\n \nWe reached the desert floor and slithered along the ground like snakes, not more than twenty feet from the circle, but no one took notice of us.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cDuskmouths are noted neither for intelligence nor ambition,\u201d Brax whispered.\n<\/p>\n \nWe crawled our way to the boulder where we\u2019d sat. The high priestess assembled ten duskmouths and stacked them in a pyramid. Crixon pointed his wand. An orange beam emerged from the wand and engulfed the pyramid of duskmouths with a brilliant flash. When the light returned to normal, a twelve-foot tall giant duskmouth stood where the pyramid had been. It would take a bazooka to bring that thing down. His little cousins squealed their approval.\n<\/p>\n \nI slipped behind the boulder and found my purse. Keys were inside. I looped the strap over my neck and slowly slunk back out. This might work after all.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOkay, let\u2019s get out of here.\u201d I looked around but couldn\u2019t find Brax.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cDie, Repugnant One!\u201d Brax charged across the circle, swinging the crowbar.\n<\/p>\n \nCrixon thrust the wand at him. A bolt struck Brax, knocking him to the ground.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cBrax!\u201d I instinctively stood and raced toward him.\n<\/p>\n \nCrixon spotted me. A bolt of electricity crackled over my head. I ducked and ended flat in the dirt. He waved the wand, but instead of being struck by a lightning bolt, I floated into the air, drifting toward Crixon, my arms and legs pinwheeling to no effect. I landed in the circle, facing him.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThe so-called Witch of Sherman Oaks? It seems we\u2019ll have to revise the schedule and prepare your sacrifice now.\u201d There was that damned smirk again.\n<\/p>\n \nI tried not to shake. In the bravest voice I could muster, I said, \u201cYeah, well. If it\u2019s all the same to you, I\u2019ll just be going.\u201d I turned to walk away, but my feet didn\u2019t work. I stuck to the green like a fly to flypaper.\n<\/p>\n \nHe addressed his followers. \u201cWhat shall it be, my minions? Do you want to see me flay the skin from this arrogant Terran or would you prefer to watch her burn?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThe duskmouths moaned. The gallcrackles groaned.\n<\/p>\n \nCrixon laughed cruelly. \u201cMy followers have spoken. Flaying it shall be!\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI couldn\u2019t move my feet, but my hands were free. I pulled the gun from my purse. I\u2019d never shot anything other than a target at the range, but I didn\u2019t hesitate. I aimed at Crixon\u2019s chest, cocked the hammer, and pull\u2014Something was wrong. The trigger wouldn\u2019t move. No, not the trigger. My finger froze. It wasn\u2019t doubt or fear. My finger simply wouldn\u2019t respond.\n<\/p>\n \nCrixon gestured with his wand.\n<\/p>\n \nThe gun was hot to my hand, searing, I dropped it. My hand was red, beginning to blister.\n<\/p>\n \nThe revolver rose from the ground and floated in front of Crixon. A twist of his wand and the gun broke itself down, its parts suspended in midair. He inspected the pieces. A look of understanding crossed his face. \u201cAh, what a lovely toy. The hammer strikes the primer, igniting a propellant of potassium carbonate and potassium sulfate, which drives the bullet down the barrel.\u201d Crixon mumbled something, and the gun reassembled.\n<\/p>\n \nI struggled to free myself. My feet lifted, but the soles and heels of my boots stuck to the green. I flailed like one of those advertising balloons outside a car dealership.\n<\/p>\n \nCrixon aimed the gun at the giant duskmouth and fired. The bullet ricocheted harmlessly off its body. It made some sort of high-pitched noise, like a giggle. Guess it tickled.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou have no magic, and your science is for children. This world will be an easy conquest.\u201d Crixon tossed the gun aside. \u201cWhere were we? Oh yes, my servants demand that I flay you alive.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nHe whispered something, and the wand transformed into a blade. He sliced the palm of his left hand and blood dripped to the ground. He gazed at the sky and began an incantation. The duskmouths and gallcrackles chanted.\n<\/p>\n \nMy shoes were stuck to the circle, not my feet. I reached down and unsnapped the buckles. I flexed my foot and lifted it an inch to be sure.\n<\/p>\n \nCrixon approached, weapon in one hand, his other dripping blood. I had to time this perfectly. He raised the blade, aiming for my chest. I lifted my right leg, got excellent hip rotation, slammed my foot into his ribcage, and sent him sprawling. Daevy would be so proud. The blade slipped from his hand and returned to the form of a wand.\n<\/p>\n \nThe minions grunted their disapproval.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cEarth isn\u2019t the pushover you think it is.\u201d I delivered a knee strike to his head. Almost.\n<\/p>\n \nCrixon raised his hands, blocked my blow, and grabbed my shin. I was off-balance, standing on my left foot, while he held my right leg. He twisted my leg, pain shot up my spine, and I fell to the ground.\n<\/p>\n \nI scrambled to my feet. He did the same. We faced off. I feinted to the right, moved to his left, and smacked him with an elbow. I blocked his fist and hit him with a roundhouse right. I was faster and a better fighter, but it was like hitting a punching bag, only harder. His skin was like armor.\n<\/p>\n \nI fought with no mercy. This was for the world. This was for me. Left, right, left, he covered up, and I kept pounding. He crouched and leg-swiped me, dropping me to the ground. He crawled toward the wand. I grabbed his leg. He wasn\u2019t making any progress, but I couldn\u2019t pull him away. Stalemate.\n<\/p>\n \nHe shouted, and the wand shakily rose from the green, floating toward his outstretched hand.\n<\/p>\n \nThe crowbar soared through the air and struck Crixon\u2019s hand. He screamed, and the wand dropped to the ground.\n<\/p>\n \nBrax! I looked to him for help, but a gallcrackle wrestled him to the ground. The minions formed a circle on the green and surrounded us, but they looked to be letting Crixon and me battle it out without interference.\n<\/p>\n \nI stomped on Crixon\u2019s leg, let him go, and stood. I needed a weapon. The gun was proven worthless. I looked for the crowbar. A duskmouth was chewing on it like an over-sized Tootsie Roll. That left the wand. I scrambled past Crixon as he rose. I picked up the wand, faced him, and waved like I had seen him do.\n<\/p>\n \nNothing.\n<\/p>\n \nCrixon chortled. \u201cThe wand is useless to you. It requires a life-time of training to master.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nWith the wand in my left hand I advanced, I feinted with a right. He moved to block, and I did my best impression of a Mike Trout homerun swing, slamming the wand into his groin. No such thing as dirty fighting when the world is at stake. A wide-eyed Crixon whimpered and dropped to the ground. I pounded him in the head with the wand until he lapsed into unconscious, the smirk wiped off his face.\n<\/p>\n \nExhausted I dropped to my knees and gulped deep breaths of air.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cJennifer Griffiths, The Witch of Sherman Oaks, Defender of the Mojave, Face of the New Resistance.\u201d The voice of the high priestess came from directly behind me.\n<\/p>\n \nI was spent, nothing left, but the fight wasn\u2019t over. I gripped the wand with my left hand, balled my right into a fist. I counted to three and spun as I stood.\n<\/p>\n \nMy knees collapsed. I tumbled to the ground; the wand slipped from my hand. The priestess stood over me. I held back my tears. I fought the good fight. I wasn\u2019t going out crying.\n<\/p>\n \nDadan raised her hand. \u201cYou accepted Crixon\u2019s challenge and defeated him in fair combat. Mostly.\u201d Her eyes flicked to Brax. The gallcrackle released him and Brax was slowly picking himself up. \u201cI declare you champion.\u201d She offered me her hand and lifted me to my feet. In a low voice she said, \u201cI never liked working for that jerk.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThe duskmouths broke into chant. \u201cHenna-Thur! Henna-Thur!\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cBunch of front runners,\u201d I muttered.\n<\/p>\n \nBrax addressed the priestess. \u201cYou will return to Thacriulea? Crixon, duskmouths, gallcrackles, all?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nDadan nodded. She stamped her right foot twice, and the portal opened above us. \u201cWe will depart this world.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nCrixon\u2019s unconscious body floated upward through the portal and disappeared. The giant duskmouth and the gallcrackers followed. The smaller duskmouths ascended. They twisted their heads to get a look at me while still doing their best to chant my name. The priestess was the last to go. The portal closed, and the green vanished. We stood on sand. In the west the sky was a dark purple.\n<\/p>\n \nI grabbed Brax and gave him a big hug. \u201cIt\u2019s over right? You said he can\u2019t come back.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThe portal cannot re-open for 144,000 years.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cSo, what now?\u201d I asked.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cEarth is safe. Return to your life.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cAnd what about you?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThere is more evil that threatens other worlds. My work never ends.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIn that case, do me a favor. Next time you choose a defender, engage in a little more research.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nBrax smiled. \u201cJennifer Griffiths, you are a true champion. I could not have selected any better.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI kissed him on the cheek. \u201cIf you\u2019re ever in Sherman Oaks again, look me up.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nMy gaze flicked to the revolver laying on the ground. \u201cDon\u2019t want to forget this.\u201d I reached down. By the time I straightened up, Brax was gone.\n<\/p>\n \nThe sun had completely set. The squid burned itself out. New moon. And as dazzling as a night sky full of stars is, it wasn\u2019t enough light to find my way to the Prius. I took half-a-dozen steps in what I hoped was the right direction and stubbed my toe on something metal. Half-buried in the sand, I found Crixon\u2019s wand.\n<\/p>\n \nI picked it up and gave it a wave. Still no lightning, flames, energy beams. But I\u2019d hold on to it: a souvenir from the time I saved the world.\n<\/p>\n \nMy black boots were impossible to find in the dark. so I trudged off barefoot in search of my car. An hour of tripping over cacti and rocks, left me no closer to locating the Prius. I sat on a boulder, laid the wand down, rubbed my scratched and swollen feet, and considered waiting until sunrise. I swallowed to get the saliva going in my mouth. Should have asked for water before everyone disappeared.\n<\/p>\n \nFrustrated I shouted at the desert, \u201cWhere\u2019s my damn car?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThe wand rattled and hummed. In the distance my Prius lit up, surrounded by a shower of blue neon light.\n<\/p>\n \nPerhaps the wand would be more than a souvenir.\n<\/p>\n \n \nWe sat on the deck of my Manhattan Beach office. Cynthia, my new client, and I sipped lemonade in the shade, while watching the waves roll in.\n<\/p>\n \nCynthia set down her glass. \u201cMy boss is impossible. He\u2019s making all sorts of creepy demands, and says if I don\u2019t go along, he\u2019ll have me fired.\u201d She lowered her voice like she was confiding a secret. \u201cI was wondering if you could put some sort of curse on him.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nMy fingers stroked the cold hard metal of the wand. \u201cWhat did you have in mind?\u201d\n<\/p>\n James Blakey\u2019s fiction has appeared in Mystery Weekly, Crimson Streets, and Over My Dead Body. His story \u2018The Bicycle Thief\u2019 won a 2019 Derringer Award. He lives in suburban Philadelphia where he works as a network engineer for a software consulting company.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" \u201cWhy can\u2019t you just turn Jason into a frog?\u201d Boise Davenport frowned, brushing back a loose strand of her unnaturally red hair. We were sitting in my living room, which was doubling as my office, as business was slow. \u201cThat\u2019s not the sort of thing I do. No matter how much someone might deserve it,\u201d …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":97608,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,20076],"tags":[20077],"class_list":["post-137928","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-tcl-36-summer-2020","tag-the-colored-lens-36-summer-2020","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/137928","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/97608"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=137928"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/137928\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":137931,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/137928\/revisions\/137931"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=137928"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=137928"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=137928"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n