“Ow! Stop that. I’m a grown woman!” I could screech all I wanted, she still treated me like a kid.
“You will always be my chubby-wubby Janey,” she cooed.
Ugh.
“You know, there’s a place you can send senile old witches,” I threatened and then forgave her when she ladled out a bowl of yummy stew.
Sipping at it, I unabashedly groaned at the salty tang with a hint of red wine, oregano, and meat that melted in my mouth. Now distracted, I barely paid her any mind as she babbled.
“…we set sail in the morning.”
My spoon paused halfway to my mouth. “Excuse me? I think I misunderstood. What sale are we going to? And what are we buying?”
“Sail, as in on a boat. A big one.” Grandma stretched her arms wide, which—given her diminutive stature—wasn’t really impressive. “You and I are going on a cruise.” The pamphlet fluttered from the ceiling, and I caught it, immediately noticing the caption across the top.
“Hell Cruise is offering an adventure on the high seas experience. Not exactly a selling point,” I muttered.
“You didn’t really expect me to book something with mundane folk, did you?” Grandma’s lip curled.
I kept reading, and my brows crawled up my forehead with each new line.
Hell Hub Travel is delighted to offer a new kind of pleasure cruise specially designed for the non-mundane inhabitants of the accessible planes.
Expect magical turndown service. Each room comes with its own maid/butler. Freeing them will result in replacement fees.
We offer catered meals* for even the most discerning palate. (*Please advise us ahead of time of special dietary requirements. Extra costs for those requiring fresh, vegan, mundane blood.)
Numerous pools to choose from: boiling hot springs, mud, gelatin, and even a lava tub.
Onboard activities include shuffle head, midnight yoga, and massages and facials from a jar or spat straight from the source.
Exciting destinations. Each cruise through the Bermuda Triangle will feature numerous ports of call such as Mermaid Bay, Siren Isle***, Atlantis (if it’s not lost again) and if the seas decide to tip us over, an up-close look at DJ's Locker.
***Please note we are not responsible for the loss of any male companions or family members who choose to follow a siren’s song.
Relax in our varied staterooms, from windowless for the daylight-challenged, to the opulent Princess Suite with an ocean-view balcony.
I paused in my reading. “I don’t suppose you doled out for a suite?”
“Bah. Why spend all that extra money on a room we’ll be using only for sleep?”
“You’re a cheap old witch,” I grumbled.
“The stingiest,” she agreed with a nod and a smile. “I can’t wait to relax on deck. Maybe spell a few pool boys to rub my feet and grease other parts.”
“Grandma!” I blinked at her language. “What happened to being a lady?”
“Really, Jane, get your mind out of the gutter. Nothing wrong with asking for help for the hard-to-reach spots.”
“But you implied…” Sometimes, dealing with my grandmother could confuse. One minute, she made pot cookies and wore halter tops with hoop earrings. The next, she acted like G-strings were the most sinful thing ever. Which didn’t explain the drawerful she kept.
“And this is why you need a husband. Look at how your mind keeps wandering in dirty directions.”
“Not my fault. Blame Mom and Dad. Hard to be a prude when you were conceived in front of a crowd.”
“Really, Jane. Must you bring that up?” Grandma tsked as I reminded her of my parents’ courtship.
My dad, being a pirate, had kidnapped my mother. They’d fought. My mom had refused to give in, which in turn drove my father wild. He had her chained in his room when he left the ship to get drunk in a tavern.
An enemy of my dad’s snuck on board and stole her. My father then went to her rescue and slaughtered everyone in his way. Mom said it was the most romantic thing ever.
Things got a little hot when they finally reunited. As in, on the deck, practically on top of the bodies of Dad’s enemies, in full view of his crew. Who then all died because they’d seen Mom naked.
My dad has a jealous streak.
Probably why he didn’t mind them living at the bottom of the sea. Fewer living men to ogle my mother. And no kid around to insist they wear clothes and keep their door shut when they had sex, which came after the rule I instituted about no sex outside the bedroom. An edict my parents hated. I sometimes wondered if my dad had gotten his ship sunk on purpose so I’d stop cramping their style.
“How did we get onto the topic of sex, anyhow? We were discussing my locket.”
“Find the locket, and you’ll find your mate.”
“I’d rather not. And as for the cruise, you’re going alone. I’m staying right here.”
“You have to come. I already bought you a ticket.”
“But I don’t want to go. Can’t, as a matter of fact. Some of us have a job, you know.”
“No, you don’t.” Grandma’s lips curved into an evil smile. “Didn’t you hear? You were fired.”
“Since when?”
My cell phone rang. A glance at the display showed that it was work. I answered. Listened to a flat voice informing me that my services were no longer needed, and hung up. I arched a brow at my grandma. “What did you do?”
“I knew you’d try and use that awful job of yours as an excuse to stay home.” That awful job being that of a bank teller replete with a steady paycheck, benefits, and paid holidays. “So I called the bank manager and told him that you said wildly inappropriate things to me and asked to see my knickers.”
“Grandma!” The urge to throttle her overwhelmed me to the point where I tucked my hands behind my back. “I could have asked for time off.”
“You wouldn’t have.” Spoken sagely by someone who knew me very well. “Now that you find yourself with free time, go pack.”
Arguing further would prove useless. Surely an opportunity to push her overboard would present itself.
2
Jane: Ahoy, matey! I need a drink.
Despite myself, I was rather impressed by the sheer size of the ocean liner, Sushi Lover, just one of the many cruise ships available from Pleasure Industries. Multiple storied, it appeared utterly normal to the casual eye. A glamour, of course. When I coasted through its boundary, riding a stiff breeze, I got to see the details that set it apart from the mundane ships, such as the giant harpoon at the stern just in case a mighty ocean denizen came after us.
The dock had a line of people boarding. Suckers. Grandma and I landed our brooms on the top deck, alighting in the pentagram painted to guide those of us arriving by air. The North American and European witches stuck with brooms, a few of them styled in the popular Quidditch trend, but the fellow who’d glided in a moment before us had chosen to use a rug. We moved out of the way just in time for a zooming armchair.
Grandma sniffed at the sight of it. “Young’uns nowadays have no respect for the old customs.”
“Looks more comfortable than a stick up my ass,” I mumbled.