Sinfully Delicious

by Amanda M. Lee

  My temper flared, anger I didn’t know I possessed taking root. My hands clenched into fists at my sides and I was certain I would lose control and pummel her face. Instead, something wrenched free from inside of me and pushed through my chest in an explosion of energy.

  I couldn’t explain it. Heck, I couldn’t even see it. I could only feel it, and apparently I wasn’t the only one.

  At the exact moment my anger grew teeth and attacked, Monica cried out, her hands immediately going to her forehead.

  “What was that?” she screeched.

  “What was what?” Hunter snapped. He looked angry. His disappointment was aimed directly at Monica. “What are you complaining about now?”

  “My eyebrows! They’re ... on fire.”

  Hunter rolled his eyes and nudged away her hands, his eyes widening when he saw what used to be her eyebrows. She was right. The perfect arches were definitely burning. In fact, they’d burned completely off. The only hair left were the scraggly remnants of what had once been magnificently manicured half circles.

  “How did that happen?” He looked dumbfounded.

  That was nothing compared to what I felt. He didn’t realize it — and I certainly couldn’t say it — but I had a sneaking suspicion I was responsible.

  17

  Seventeen

  Confusion reigned for several minutes as Hunter wiped the singed hair from Monica’s face. By the time he finished, there was nothing left other than a stray hair. She looked ... well, she looked ridiculous, which would’ve made me happy under different circumstances. I was convinced I’d somehow caused it, though, so I was mired in a tidal wave of panic.

  “What does it look like?” Monica asked, her lower lip trembling.

  “It looks fine,” Hunter lied quickly.

  Tristan burst out laughing. “It looks stupid. How did you even manage that?”

  I was distinctly uncomfortable with the question and tried to maintain a calm veneer — complete with a quizzical expression right out of a Lifetime movie. I feared someone would figure out I was the source of whatever had happened.

  “I didn’t do anything,” Monica snapped. “I was just standing here. I want to see.”

  “It’s fine,” Hunter repeated, although I got the distinct impression he was trying to refrain from laughing. “It gives your face ... character.”

  Monica’s glare only deepened. “Give me a mirror.”

  “I don’t have a mirror.”

  Her eyes moved to me. “Give me your mirror.”

  It took me a moment to recover my voice. “I don’t have a mirror either. Sorry.”

  “You did this,” she hissed, causing my heart to flutter. “You did this to me.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but I wasn’t sure I could deliver the denial with any form of plausibility. Thankfully, Hunter swooped in to save me from having to argue on my own behalf.

  “How did she do it?” he challenged, calm. “She was standing a good three feet away. She never touched you.”

  “Oh, she did it.” Monica refused to back down, her fingers going to the spots where her eyebrows used to be. “You saw the way she was looking at me.”

  “And how was that?” Hunter squared his shoulders and shook his head. “You were attacking her, and needlessly. She hasn’t done anything to you. Going after her the way you did, it just reinforces your insecurity. You need to get over it.”

  Monica growled. “Are you blaming this on me?”

  “No, but ... you didn’t need to yell at her. We were just talking. We’ve known each other a long time. There’s nothing going on between us.”

  “I think there’s only one way to prove that,” Tristan interjected. “Stormy should go out with me and then everybody will be happy. And you can put all those ugly rumors to rest about the status of your long-dead relationship.” The smile he sent me was blinding — and stomach-churning.

  “I think I should go.” I refused to dignify Tristan’s half-hearted date offer with an answer that was likely to make things worse — if that was even possible.

  “You can’t leave until you fix this,” Monica insisted, gesturing toward her brow.

  “How am I supposed to fix that?” I was at a loss. “I’m not a cosmetologist.”

  “And she didn’t cause the problem,” Hunter insisted.

  “Then how did it happen?” Monica demanded.

  “Were you by the fire?” Hunter, ever practical, immediately went to what he thought was a rational answer. “Maybe a spark landed in your eyebrows and didn’t ignite until you came over here.”

  “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Monica shot back.

  “No stupider than you insisting that Stormy somehow did it,” Hunter argued. “She didn’t touch you. She’s not some magical being from another planet. You’ve been drinking. You probably did it to yourself and don’t realize it.”

  “I didn’t do it to myself!”

  I was over the conversation. Completely and totally over it. “I really have to go.” I edged away from the group, desperately searching for Alice so we could make our escape. “It was great catching up. I’ll see you later.”

  ALICE MAY HAVE GIVEN UP ON TRYING to snag Tristan for the evening — apparently he was making it impossible for her to corner him and turn on the charm — but she wasn’t ready to leave.

  “I’m not done yet.”

  “You’re done.” I was insistent as I dragged her away, ignoring her whining until we were at least a quarter of a mile away from the party. It was only then that she stopped fighting my efforts.

  “First you make me go to a party I don’t want to go to and then you drag me away before I’m ready to leave,” she groused, scuffing her shoe against the ground as she glared. “When do we get to do something I want to do?”

  “When you come up with a good idea,” I muttered, my mind busy as I contemplated what had happened. The initial surprise had given way to panic. I had no doubt I was the reason Monica no longer had eyebrows. How, though? Was it even possible? It didn’t feel possible.

  “What’s up with you?” Alice asked after a few minutes. She was watching me with keen eyes. “Did something happen with Hunter?”

  “Of course not.” The answer was automatic. “Stop assuming something will happen with Hunter. We’re just ... friends.” Even saying the word felt wrong. There was no denying the way my body reacted whenever we were near each other. There was a spark there, something that hadn’t been smothered by our time apart. For all I knew, it was the sort of spark that would never die, which was frustrating on several levels.

  “I saw you talking to him,” Alice persisted. “It looked like a deep conversation.”

  “We were catching up on old times.”

  “Oh, it was definitely more than that. He was staring at you as if you were the only woman in the world.”

  “He was not.”

  “He was. You just can’t see it because you’re too close to the situation. He was there with another woman and all he cared about was you. If I were Monica, I’d dump him ... and fast. He’s going to make her look like a fool before it’s all said and done.”

  Given Monica’s reaction this evening, I had a feeling she already felt like a fool. “Do you remember what happened with the Ouija board the other night?” I asked, opting to change the subject.

  Alice’s forehead wrinkled. “I remember. We were drunk and asking it stupid questions, like if Hunter and I would’ve been married by now if you hadn’t stolen him from me.”

  I shot her a sidelong look. “We didn’t ask that.”

  “You were drunk. You don’t remember.”

  “I would remember that.”

  “If you say so.” She rolled her eyes and focused on the uneven path. “Why are you asking about the Ouija board?”

  “Because ... .” Could I tell her? Would she think I was crazy? More importantly, would she rat me out to the rest of the family and have me locked up for believing something so ludicr
ous?

  “You might as well tell me,” Alice offered, as if reading my mind. “Even if I make fun of you — and that is a distinct possibility — it’s not as if you have anyone else to talk to. I’m your best bet.”

  Sadly, that was true. She was pretty much the only one I could talk to. “Weird things have been happening to me,” I blurted out, the tension I’d been carrying in my chest immediately lessening. “I mean ... like, really weird things.”

  “I need more information.”

  “Well, for starters, I woke up floating over my bed the other day.” I launched into the tale, leaving nothing out. Alice guffawed so loudly when I got to the part about trying to swim through the air I thought she would fall over. A dirty look from me had her righting herself quickly. “It’s not funny.”

  “It’s not funny,” she agreed, wiping at the corners of her eyes. She was a masterful liar under normal circumstances, but she wasn’t even trying this evening. “You have to admit that picturing you trying to swim to your bed is humorous.”

  “That’s just a different word for funny!” I exploded.

  Alice looked around as if expecting people to come out of the trees and join us. “Calm down,” she chided. “There’s no sense getting worked up.”

  “How can you say that? I was floating over my bed.”

  “Or you were dreaming.”

  I hesitated. “I thought that was the case, but it’s not the only weird thing that’s happened. There have been other things.”

  “Like?”

  “Like last night when I went down to get the kitten.”

  “The kitten you’re not keeping even though you bought a bunch of tuna to feed it?”

  I ignored the question. “When I went down there, things were perfectly calm and fine. After a few minutes, though, I was convinced someone was watching me.”

  “That happens to me all the time,” Alice countered. “We can freak ourselves out easier than others can. Don’t you remember when we were kids and we’d walk through the cornfields out on the highway? You told me about Children of the Corn and we were terrified for a full week. You knew it was a stupid story, but you were still frightened.”

  “I was, like, thirteen.”

  “That doesn’t change the fact that we can scare ourselves without meaning to,” Alice argued. “Think about it. You were down there with a kitten, realized you were completely alone, and if someone wanted to hurt you, you were vulnerable. That little pebble you inserted into your brain turned into a big boulder and you freaked out.”

  It sounded so reasonable. “I also think I burned Monica’s eyebrows off her face.”

  This time the look Alice shot me was incredulous. “Um ... what?”

  I told her about the altercation at the keg, leaving nothing out. When I finished, she focused on a random detail.

  “What’s the deal with Tristan?” she complained. “I basically did a dirty dance in front of him and put these on display, but nothing.” She grabbed her ample bosom and gave it a squeeze. “Nobody can say no to these.”

  “Is that really important?” I challenged, frustration getting the better of me. “Tristan is essentially what happens when you step in dog crap and it dries over a five-day period. You’re never truly getting rid of that stain after that. We’re talking about me here.”

  “We are talking about you,” Alice agreed. “We’re talking about you and Hunter. What were you saying to one another that got Monica so riled up that she’d attack you that way? I’ve never really cared for her — she’s a witch with a B, if you want to know the truth — but she’s usually smart enough not to attack her enemies so openly. You must be deranging her.

  “I have to say that I did see it coming,” she continued. “I knew she wasn’t long for Hunter’s world the second I heard you were coming back. I thought he would put up more than a token fight, though — you know, really dig his heels in — but it’s as if he’s already ceded the battle.”

  I stared at her for a long time. “We’re not talking about Hunter,” I snapped, the frustration I’d been trying to tamp down for almost an hour returning with a vengeance. “We’re talking about the fact that I think I burned Monica’s eyebrows off.”

  Alice snorted. “There’s no way you did that.”

  “I think I did. It’s all a blur, but I swear I felt something rip free from inside of me.”

  “It’s probably all that pent-up lust you’ve been hiding away for Hunter. I bet if you guys ever hit the sheets — and we all know it’s going to happen, because it’s been, like, five days and you guys can’t stay away from each other — that you’ll scorch the world it’ll be so intense. Okay, maybe not the first time. You’ll both be awkward and stiff the first time, but after that, I bet it’ll be really good. You should jump on that and then tell me all about it so I can live vicariously through you.”

  I wanted to choke her. “I’m serious,” I gritted out, my hands clenching and unclenching at my sides. “I know I did that to Monica. You can deny it all you want, but it’s true. I burned her eyebrows off.”

  “But ... how?” Alice’s expression was blank. “How could you have possibly done it unless ... .” She trailed off, uncertain.

  I waited for her to continue. When she didn’t, I almost screamed to drag her back to the conversation. “Unless what?”

  “Well, there is this one thing.” She chewed her bottom lip, and for the first time since I’d started talking about the weird things that had been happening to me, she looked concerned.

  “I’ll kill you if you don’t spill,” I threatened.

  “I heard Grandma talking once,” Alice explained. “She was arguing with Grandpa. I didn’t think much of it. They always argue. She was mad because he made a huge mess in the kitchen and didn’t clean it up.

  “Anyway, she was yelling and said to him, ‘I’m not your mother. It’s not as if I can magically clean the kitchen,’” she continued. “I thought it was a weird thing to say, but Grandpa started yelling back that he didn’t want someone who could magically clean the kitchen, that he didn’t like witches, and that’s why he married her instead of the woman his mother wanted him to marry.”

  “Witch?”

  Alice nodded. “That’s the word she used.”

  I ran my tongue over my teeth as I considered the possibilities. “Do you think she was accusing Great-Grandma of being a witch?”

  Alice shrugged. “I don’t know. It sounded that way to me — especially now looking back. What are the odds, though? I think we would know if there were witches in our family.”

  My knowledge of Great-Grandma was scant. She’d moved from the area when I was still a small child, leaving the restaurant in Grandpa’s capable hands. Still, the name Two Broomsticks had always seemed weird, yet nobody ever talked about why the name stuck. The only thing I knew is that Great-Grandma entrusted the restaurant to Grandpa with the caveat that nobody ever change the name.

  I swallowed hard. “She’s due for a visit in about a month, right?”

  Alice nodded “Yeah. I don’t think you can just wander up to her and ask if you’re a witch, though. That might come out wrong — especially if you’re still hiding from your mother. She’s going crazy because you refuse to visit, by the way. She’s spending all her time complaining to my mother.”

  I wasn’t surprised. Her mother, my mother, and our Aunt Trina were a terrifying trio. They fought constantly, and then made up and fought with everybody else in town.

  “Why do you think I’m avoiding her?” I said, turning my attention back to the pathway. “She’s being a pain and I like to get her really good and angry before having to see her. That usually cuts down on the invasive questions as she spends half the get-together reminding herself that she’s angry with me.”

  “Well, at least you’ve thought it through.” Alice went back to annoyingly scuffing her feet. “What are you going to do in the meantime?”

  “About what? And, if you ask me about Hunter again, I�
��m going to tackle you into the river and drown you right here. There’s nothing to be done about Hunter. We’re just friends.”

  She looked dubious, but she didn’t press the matter. “I was talking about the witch thing. Are you really going to wait until Great-Grandma gets here? That’s a long time, especially if you really are burning off people’s eyebrows.”

  She had a point. “I don’t know what to do. I have to think.”

  “You could always ask our grandmother. She’s never been shy when it comes to complaining about Great-Grandma.”

  That was true. “I have tomorrow off. I’ll decide then.”

  Alice was quiet for a few moments, something I appreciated, and then she pushed things to an uncomfortable place. “What’s the over-under for when Hunter dumps Monica and officially asks you out? I say it happens in less than a week. I wouldn’t have said that before I saw you together, but it’s definitely coming.”

  “I will kill you,” I warned.

  “Promises, promises.”

  18

  Eighteen

  I didn’t wake with a hangover — at least from alcohol — but my head was fuzzy when I finally crawled out of bed the next morning. The kitten opened one eye, gave me a long look, and then rolled over and went back to sleep. His opinion on how I was spending my time was obvious.

  I was still half asleep when I trudged to the kitchen to make coffee. It would’ve been faster — and probably better — if I’d just gone down to the restaurant and filled a mug there, but that would’ve meant changing out of my pajamas, far too much work. I was still waiting for the Keurig to finish heating up when Grandpa strolled into my apartment, a newspaper tucked under his arm. He pulled up short when he saw me.