*Corman

Corman, cradling the jar of pickles, trailed after Nova at a good distance, still playing in his head the conversation with Gwen. Had they had an almost moment? When she was looking at his hand on the table?

Maybe. But then, she was ready to jab her wine glass in his tongue.

He hated to spy, but his life depended on gathering the most information possible of how this house and new life functioned. There had to be rules. He would learn them and implement them.

And hopefully, the rules weren't based on incomprehensible algorithms that were biased to benefit the non-humans in all circumstances.

The doorbell rang again in a quick buzzes as Nova called out she was coming. She threw open the door with a grand gesture.

Corman leaned sideways from his position at the staircase to get a look under Nova's arm. A woman stood on the porch. Short, generously curved, blond hair in a pony-tail—he recognized her.

The bathrobe woman in the pharmacy who had half a dozen dogs for adoption.

Wait...

When he had said you witches to Gwen, he had meant her in a singular sense and the plural of other witches as an eventuality, a possibility that more witches were out there, such as Nova hiding in this very witchy-looking house. But he was an idiot for not seeing the obvious right in front of him.

Witches were everywhere in the real world. He was surrounded. Because vodka-buying, dog-peddling, pantsless woman from the pharmacy was a witch, too.

"Hi? Do you have rooms available? I need a safe place to stay," the blonde said. In addition to being a witch, she also happened to be soaking wet from the drizzling rain which had started since he and Gwen arrived, and apparently plastered from drinking the sloshing bottle of liquor tucked in the crook of her arm. She swayed unsteadily. She had found more clothes, though.

Nova stretched out her arms. "Always. This house is a haven for witches in need. You are my second guest."

Corman coughed.

"You are my second and a half guest, as my intention was to provide this space for witches in need. You are welcome here," Nova said. "We can discuss prices in the kitchen."

"Hi," Corman said, moving from the darkness of the hallway.

The blonde cocked her head in confusion. "I know you. You are the cat person."

"Pharmacy and parking lot. That's right," he said.

"You don't belong here, do you?" she asked. Then she snapped her fingers as if figuring something out. "Piña colada! I knew I recognized the scent. And I have rum. What a coincidence!" She waved the bottle at him.

Leaves rustled in the living room, out of Corman's line of sight. He squinted into the darkness. Nova moved instantly to his side and hooked her arm in his. "Let me escort you back to your room."

"That's not neces—"

"Can you escort me to mine at the same time?" the blonde asked. She stumbled to the staircase. "Priss, by the way."

"Nova. Enchantée," Nova said. "And this is a minion, by the name of Corman."

"I'm not a minion."

"Come with me, right now. Be ready to throw a pickle."

Corman took one from the jar as Nova steered him swiftly up the stairs.

At the second-floor landing, she paused. "Priss, you will have the last room on the right. But I warn you, I warn you both, do not go into the West Wing." She motioned to the left of the landing, where the hall ended at one single door

Priss squeezed her ample body past Nova. "What's in the West Wi—"

"It's forbidden!" Nova said. "So don't go there."

Corman crunched on a pickle. He wondered if the left half of the second floor was where she kept the food, and whether or not it was possible to get salt poisoning from dining on too many pickles. If he didn't get a real meal soon, he was going to set off on foot and hold up a gas-station.

She took him up to his door and waited for him to cross the threshold. "Remember, don't step foot outside this room. Lock the window. Lock the door. Have a pleasant sleep."

"I don't want to upset you, but I believe there is a mice infestation in the house."

"No, my dear, Corman. I guarantee, there are no mice living in this house. Good night."

***

Stomach cramps, a mouth dry as old kindling, and a massive headache woke Corman the next morning. Light poured through the filmy, white curtains. He shielded his eyes and rolled off the bed.

Straightening his Mumu at the same time as he stretched, he tried to undo all the kinks and aches in his lower back, buttocks, and neck. It was useless. He was wrinkled and crooked.

His stomach twisted in hunger pains. A smell like death wafted from his mouth. He didn't even have a toothbrush to call his own. When he had grabbed his things from his bedroom, he took only his most precious items—two laptops, his cell phone, gaming console, a pair of great speakers, and the only framed picture he owned of his parents.

Don't step out of the room. Right. His aching ass, he would stay in here any longer. He was going to waltz right out of the house, taking Gwen's bike keys with him, even if he didn't know how to ride a motorcycle, and start putting the pieces of his life back together.

Somehow. He strode to the staircase.

And realized he had forgotten his jar of pickles.

He went back for them, although the sight of the green things churned his guts with nausea. It was possible to eat too many pickles, he knew that now. Instead of going downstairs, though, he knocked at Gwen's door.

She didn't answer.

A hollowness opened in his chest. What if she was gone? He groaned in frustration. If she was gone, he would have to find a way to haunt this house forever. At this time, though, he needed food, so he headed for the kitchen.

No one was in the living room, or the kitchen, though. In fact, the house was strangely quiet. The hairs on his neck prickled. It was as if the whole place was holding its breath.

"Hello?"

Nothing answered.

His stomach contorted again, but all he had to fill it with was water. Since he was also parched as sun baked pavement in the middle of summer, he chugged two full glasses. He wandered out of the kitchen.

A door under the staircase, which he had noticed before but was otherwise unremarkable, was now crisscrossed with a heavy chain and padlock. Right. That wasn't worrisome in the least. There was another doorway leading out the back of the house, and a greenish light glowed from its cut-out windows.

The faint scent of flowers and fresh, growing things reached him. He tested the handle. The door opened to an ornate, old-fashioned green house attached to the back of the main house.

"Blessed be the fruit," he whispered, rushing forward.

There were blackberry and raspberry bushes with ripe berries. Strawberries grew red and plump in half barrels. Citrus trees grew along the sides of the green-house, branched bending under oranges and lemons.

There were some vegetable-looking greens in the bins and barrels, too, but he ignored those. If it didn't come cooked on a pizza, he had no use for, and no knowledge of, vegetables.

But fruit—this he could handle.

He was shoving a handful of blackberries in his mouth when a woman yelled his name urgently from inside the house.

"Gwen?" he called. She sounded frantic. He jumped up.

"Corman, quick! Where are you?"

Footsteps pounded, coming closer. He struggled to swallow, his heart racing. "Are you all right?"

Gwen appeared at the doorway. Her face was flushed, she had been running. "Come, come with me quick!"

"What's wrong? What happened?"

"We have to go. Now. Priss and Nova need us." She ushered him through the house and out the front door. "Get on the bike. Let's go."

"Where are we going?" he asked. "Wait—I'm still wearing a Mumu."

"It's not like anyone is going to see you," she said, climbing on the bike. She hitched her head for him to get on. "We ran into some trouble in town."

They sped down the road, Corman held her around her waist. Houses thickened, and the edges of a small town came into view. There was a larger strip mall to the left, with a sprawling parking lot. Corman had to wonder what she meant by implying no one would see him. Was her magic working and she had made them invisible? Hopefully. Because he hadn't changed underwear or brushed his hair or teeth for two days, and he certainly wasn't wearing a helmet.

"Here. We got trapped in here. I had to come for you for help."

"You had an emergency at Electro-X-Change?" It took him a moment to keep himself from screaming. If he didn't get some food he would faint or start eating his sandals.

Electro-X-Change – your one stop shop for it all.

The store was obviously a low-end, used electronics exchange shop. Gwen grabbed the front of his Mumu and dragged him indoors. A mother with her kids shopping for used Nintendo games gave him a dirty look, from his socks to his unwashed hair.

So much for his hope about being invisible.

Nova glided to his side and took his arm. "I'm so glad you made it, my dear Corman. You must find me a phone that does the map directions like yours."

She steered him to the counter where Priss was pouring over several mobile phone models. The clerk shook his head at Corman's approach, visibly annoyed by the women.

Then he cocked his head. "Haven't I seen you before?"

Corman tried to swallow, but his throat closed. Had the man seen him? Was it his picture on the news now, instead of the fake face Gwen created for her assistant murderer?

"I'd be surprised," Corman choked. "I've never seen you before."

At his side, Gwen waved her fingers in a dancing swirl. But nothing happened.

"Yeah," the man said. "I have. I'm sure I've seen your face. On T.V."

*** Thank so much - have a lovely day!!! ***