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The backup witches arrived within sixty seconds. Their golf cart screeched to a halt beside us and they spilled out, each clutching a broomstick.
“Why are you reinforcing stereotypes?” I asked.
Margie wielded her broomstick like an escrima stick. “It looks harmless but doubles as a weapon.”
Louise stepped out from behind Margie, brandishing a broomstick. “I know what you’re thinking and I’m fine now, I promise.”
Catherine hung back, clutching her broomstick with both hands. “You’re sure we’re allowed to use magic? I don’t want to lose pool privileges.”
“I give you my express permission and if Justine has an issue with it later, she can take it up with me.” Given that the wereskunk was currently hiding underneath her bed, I had a feeling she’d be fine with this.
“Could I have that in writing?” Catherine pressed. “Maybe a blood oath?”
Meemaw gave her a sharp look. “Maya’s word is her bond.”
I rested the glaive on my shoulder. “Stay behind me. I don’t want you to join the fray unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“I beg your finest pardon.” Louise snapped her eyepatch. “Do you know the story behind this?”
I shrugged. “You lost your eye in a sword fight. Or a bar brawl. Or a shark attack. A tragic error in judgment by the tooth fairy. Depends on the day.”
Meemaw snickered.
Louise flipped up the patch to reveal one perfectly normal, healthy eye. “The truth is there’s absolutely nothing wrong with my eye. It’s a front.”
“I knew it!” Catherine shrieked.
My flabbers were well and truly gasted. “A front for what?”
“An intimidation tactic. An opponent spots the patch and they immediately identify me as a genuine threat and retreat. I rarely have to bust out my magical moves.”
“What does that have to do with staying behind me? You think Keith and his minions will turn tail and run because you’re wearing a polka dot patch that matches your outfit?”
“I’ve spent years laying the groundwork,” she said, miffed by my response.
“Louise, I respect the hustle, but your phony backstory isn’t going to be enough to protect you.”
A fresh riot of sounds flooded our conversation. Time to move.
“If you want to be involved, then I ask that you use your magic to defend me while I fight.”
“In other words, you’re Diana Ross and we’re the Supremes,” Margie said.
“You’re showing your age with that dated reference,” Joan said.
“She’s Beyoncé and we’re the other members of Destiny’s Child,” Catherine offered.
I rushed ahead, now focused on the impending battle. “I can’t carry a tune to save my life,” I called over my shoulder.
“In that case, you’re Vince Neil and we’re the rest of Mötley Crüe,” Joan said.
I popped out my wings and vaulted over the hedges to join the fight.
“About time!” Gage shouted.
I surveyed the scene, quickly calculating the number of opponents and which ones I hoped to avoid hurting. There were too many familiar faces in the mix. Vampires. Werewolves. Other shifters. From the number of nude bodies on the square, I had to assume he’d also coopted Neighbors from the Clothing Optional section of the island, leaving no stones unturned.
Keith stood at the back, using most of his minions as supernatural shields. If he wanted to assert himself as an alpha, he should be leading the charge. He’d make a terrible king, not that I was surprised. Weak men with power had proven time and time again that they were the worst of the worst.
