Free Magic at Midnight by Gena Showalter

locked his feet in place with a wave of her hand.
    “Not so fast,” she said.
    His eyes widened with horror. “What are you going to do to me? I didn’t mean any harm. I only wanted a peek at your boobies.”
    Without saying a word, the three sisters tugged at the rest of his clothing, peeling it from his middle-aged body until he wore nothing but a few teardrops. Since he’d gotten a look at their goods, it was only fair they got a look at his.
    “Ew, gross,” Glory said. “Maybe we should dress him again. I’m throwing up in my mouth.”
    “That will just waste more time,” Godiva replied. “We’re going to cast our spells around you.”
    Glory’s gaze darted between his legs. “Yes, little John, we’re going to cast our spells around you and you’re going to stand there like a good boy or else.”
    That dried his tears. “You mean you’re not going to hurt me, and I get to watch you dance? Naked?” He tried real hard not to grin. “How can I care about anything else when I see lots and lots of breasts and even more breasts?”
    “I swear,” Genevieve said, “you’re the scum of the earth.”
    “Ignore him,” Godiva said after another wolf howl echoed through the night. “We need to get to work.”
    “Fine.”
    “Yes. Let’s hurry.” Genevieve found her broom half buried in a mound of dirt, snatched it up, and rejoined the circle.
    The three sisters closed their eyes, blocking out John’s image and his voice, and in perfect sync began their protection spells. Round and round they danced, their hips undulating, their hair swaying, their brooms raised high in the air. Each one chanted under her breath.
    While she danced, Godiva stumbled over the spell’s words, unable to push Romeo from her mind. That last howl had sounded pained. Was he hurt again? Should she go looking for him? He was one of the biggest, strongest, fiercest wolves she’d ever seen, but he possessed a gentle and loving nature and other beasts of the forest might trample him.
    Suddenly Glory stopped, her breasts jiggling with the abrupt halt.
    “What are you doing? Keep moving,” John whined. “I’m still praying.”
    She frowned. “Does it feel like the ground is shaking?”
    Godiva stilled, followed quickly by Genevieve. In the next instant and seemingly without provocation, Glory stumbled backward and landed on her butt.
    “What’s going on?” Godiva gasped as dirt began cracking at her feet. Grass began splitting. Flowers tumbled off of tombstones… and then the tombstones themselves tumbled to the ground. “What’s going on?” she asked again, her tone more frenzied.
    Glory popped to her feet, and Genevieve paled. “I think—ohmygoodness—I think the bodies are rising!”
    “That can’t be.” Glory sucked in a breath, whirling around to scan the surrounding area. “We only called forth their spirits.”
    “Well, the dirty bastards didn’t listen!”
    “I don’t understand. Did we say the wrong words?” Godiva asked.
    A bony hand shot through the cracked dirt and latched onto John’s ankle. Startled, he screamed and would have dropped into a fetal ball and sucked his thumb if his feet hadn’t been frozen in place. All over the cemetery, bodies rose. Most were completely decayed, but all still wore their worm-eaten burial clothes. As they emerged, they limped, lumbered, and trudged toward the sisters. Deadly moans echoed across the distance.
    “What should we do?” Glory gasped out, holding out her broom like a sword. “What the hell should we do?”
    Agnes McCloud—a woman everyone knew had once been John’s mistress—climbed all the way out of the ground. Seeing her, John started shaking like an epileptic. “Help me,” he cried. “Please, help me. Free my feet.”
    Godiva swatted at the skeleton with her broom. “Shoo.” Big chunks of dirt fell out of the dead woman’s hair. “Get back in the ground. I command you.”
    Agnes was only recently dead from a car accident, and her face