Home | Meet the Fortune Tellers Club | The Books | Meet the Author | Contact |
Other Books | Cinema Ad | Cool FTC Stuff | Crafts | Fortune Telling



Wet and Wild

By Sammy Dean


In a bookstore the biggest adventures usually lie within the pages of the books themselves. Today should be no exception. I own the Fact Or Fiction Bookshop just on the edge of town, and to say Tuesday afternoons are slow would be the understatement of…well…forever! Tuesdays are dead. Dead! Just me, the books, and my latte machine. Why I don’t just close the shop is beyond me. I could do some needed shopping or catch a matinee. But the business woman in me is a bit too bossy, so I stick with it, rain or shine.

I settle behind the counter with my lunch and an intriguing novel – food for my body, food for my soul. That’s when the door opens and the tinkling bell above sings the existence of the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Tall and lanky, he practically has to duck to clear the entrance. He gives me a boyish smile that genuinely suits the cinnamon mop of hair on his head.

I’m about to do the coffee, tea or me bit when another man steps in behind him. Not quite as tall, but just as gorgeous. Even more so in some places. Can these guys hear my ovaries singing?

As Prince Charming and Adonis draw closer, I give them a smile, while quickly clearing my lunch from the counter. Oh yeah, did I mention my lunch is an open box of Coco Puffs and a Diet Coke?

“Hi,” I say, trying to keep my cool.

Now if my history tells me anything it’s this – when two scrulumpcious guys walk into my shop it can mean only one of two things (sigh), married or gay. I quickly scan their left hands for rings. Nada. Ugh.

“Hi,” Prince Charming says back to me. “I’m Sam and this is my brother, Dean.”

Brothers? Yeah, not gay! ( I hope.) My ovaries quickly segue into a Riverdance. “I’m Tracie. Can I help you find something?”

“Well, Tracie,” Sam says, all cute and cuddly. “Would it be possible for Dean to use your restroom?”

He couldn’t ask for himself? Weird. But then, he doesn’t seem like much of a talker.

Dean offers a slight embarrassed smile.

“Sure,” I say. “Through those beaded curtains and to the right.”

Dean traipses toward the back, snatching up a Spiderman comic book on the way. What did I expect? He doesn’t look like the kind of guy who’d use a john unless it entails more than just whizzing on the back left tire of his car. I’m thinking, Take your time, Dean. I’ll just keep cuddly Sam company for a while.

“You own this place?” Sam asks, pulling up a stool on the other side of the counter.

“Own, operate, and on occasion, sell a book or two.”

Sam smiles. God I love that smile! My demeanor goes into meltdown.

I’m about to ask what brings him to my neck of the woods when I’m interrupted by the shout of a desperate man. Dean. “Sam! Come quick!” From the frantic tone of his voice, I conclude it’s more than a simple “no toilet paper” emergency.

Sam bolts from the stool, and I follow closely behind. Dean’s standing in the bathroom doorway, zipping his jeans. A look of panic shadows his face. I peek through the doorway to see my own toilet shaking and quaking in a violent spasm. What the …? Thick puce water roils and boils inside it. This looks like a scene from a bad horror film. Two seconds later, blackish-purple liquid spews like a geyser, running down the wall in dark inky fashion.

I look at Dean. “Dude, what’d you lay in there?”

Instead of answering, he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a pistol.

“A gun?” I squeal. “Can’t you just jiggle the handle instead?”

That’s when my heart does a cryogenic lock up and my body goes cold. From within my commode rises the silver transparent figure of an enormous woman, sleek as a seal, yet sporting wings on her back.

“An angel?” I ask.

Sam quickly steps in behind me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. “That’s no angel,” he says, pulling me back. “That’s a water demon!”

She gives us a menacing glare then flies forward at a gushing speed.

In two quick motions, I stumble against Sam as Dean slams the door. The demon splashes against it like the tide hitting a jetty. The three of us run to the front, but not before that Aquabitch seeps through the crack at the bottom of the door and oozes toward us.

“Go!” Dean shouts, and we all roll behind the counter. Hmmm…this was not my original vision of rolling with these two.

Aquabitch leaks into the main area of my store, soaking my merchandise. Of course the bossy business woman in me takes over again. “Hey!” I yell, standing up, hands on hips.

Sam grabs my arm and pulls me back down. “Are you crazy?” he says.

“My insurance isn’t all that great, you know.”

“I’m telling you, that’s one bad-ass undine,” Dean quips.

No joke. She’s on an H2O binge, and totally baptizing my store. Water is whirling everywhere – a total disaster!

About then my adorable Curious George display disintegrates into a mass of cardboard goo.

“Not Curious George!” Dean yells. “That ho!”

I’m nearly frantic now, hoping Sam and Dean have a solution, cause frankly, I’m fresh out of ideas to mop up this bitch. Not that I had any ideas to begin with.

A tidal wave of cold water splashes over the counter, and it’s like being dipped in an arctic pool.

“What are we going to do?” I ask them, thinking a really big sponge won’t do the trick.

“Well, drowning is definitely not part of the plan,” Dean says, rummaging through his jacket again.

Aquabitch has moved two aisles over now, still raining more havoc on my books. She appears to be heading our way. “You got some life preservers in there?” I ask him.

“Something better,” Dean answers.

Sam has his arms around me again, and I can feel him shivering from the frigid water. We’re actually quaking together…again not as I’d originally envisioned.

More wetness leaks around the counter and it’s obvious that she’s practically upon us. Dean pulls a small blue packet from his pocket and rips it open.

Aquabitch gurgles an evil roar, rising like a monsoon. In one swift move, Dean shoves a small white tablet straight into her mouth. “Take that, Katrina!”

She splashes back, a look of utter shock on her face.

“What was that?” I ask.

Dean gives me a crooked grin. “Alka-Seltzer.”

Her look is more of shock than surprise, and her sleek silver body turns an effervescent white. She screams and kicks, pitching milky water and foam as she fights the bubbles rising in her torso. She stumbles blindly back through the shop, causing more books to fall from the shelves. After a few more convulsions, she quickly dissolves into a chalky puddle, finally snaking away like the spring run-off after a gentle shower.

The three of us rise up from behind the counter, Sam still holding onto to me. Silently, we look around. Although I know we’re all on the same thought train, what they’re thinking can’t be nearly as painful as what’s running through my brain. My shop!

“It’s dead,” Dean declares. For a brief minute I think he’s talking about my spirit.

I take a deep breath and let it out. I should get extra credit for not falling into a fit of uncontrollable sobs. Sam senses my pain and gives me a soft squeezy hug before letting go.

Okay, so I’m mourning the loss of my inventory, hey, it could be worse. I could’ve lost a lot more. That’s when I muster a weak smile and look at them both. “Thanks,” I say.

Sam gives me that little boy grin which quickly reminds me why he’s Prince Charming.

I then look at Dean. “Alka-Seltzer?”

He shrugs.

“For future reference,” I ask, “is that the only way to demolish a water demon?”

Dean gives it some thought. “Well, there is a way to tame one, but it involves entrapping it in a bong with an illegal substance…”

“I’ll stock up on Alka-Seltzer,” I say, cutting off further details. “Anyway, I owe you, dude.”

He nods his head in a sort of “it’s all in a day’s work” attitude, but I know it’s fake. Seriously. How often could these guys possibly come across something this strange?

I don’t let up. “Seriously, I just wish there was some way I could repay you.”

His gaze drops to my cha-chas, which at the moment look like two finalists in a wet t-shirt contest. Sam immediately slaps Dean’s arm. “Cut it out, man.”

We slosh through the wreckage that was once my shop, and I walk them out to their – uh – car…limo…hearse?

“Nice Batmobile,” I say.

Dean grins as he wrings some water from his shirt, and am I evil for thinking these guys are even hotter soaking wet? He pops the trunk and pulls out two towels, tossing one to Sam. I recognize the “Lucky 7 Motel” emblem stitched on the side. “Watch the upholstery!” he barks.

Sam spreads his towel on the passenger side and slips in.

I lean forward.

“That was some crap,” Dean says, by way of a joke.

“From all of us!” I add. “But thanks again, guys. If it weren’t for you I’d be the tequila in a demon margarita right now.”

“Don’t mention it,” Sam says softly.

Oh Sam! I have an nagging biological urge to reach in and kiss him right now. But I don’t.

Dean cranks the engine and a blast of Hendrix sends me back a step. Then they’re off, fading down the blacktop.

In the midst of all the sorrow for the loss of my shop, I still feel a tinge of adrenaline from the day’s events. That, and a hope that one day I’d see these guys again. I mean, come on, it’s only natural. Or then again, maybe it’s Supernatural.


Copyright © 2000 - 2012 by Dotti Enderle

All content copyright by Dotti Enderle, unless otherwise noted next to content in question. All rights reserved.


Web site created by Nancy A. Cavanaugh.