Over Hexed (The Hex Series Book 1)

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  Sometimes he wished he was still a virgin, that he’d never given in to the temptation that had surrounded him all these years. Then he wouldn’t have these women who remembered that he used to be eager for all the sex he could get.

  He didn’t hold out much hope that the Lowells could help him with the woman overload situation, but at this point, anything was worth a try. Arriving in the middle of what was probably their dinnertime wasn’t cool, but he desperately needed to get away from Sylvia. She wouldn’t follow him to the Lowells’ house. He hoped.

  Five minutes later he stood on their front porch, fog dampening his cheeks as he pushed the doorbell. It chimed some classical tune, one Sean had heard a million times but couldn’t identify. He looked for the warped porch board he’d seen before. Even with the porch light on, the fog was so thick he couldn’t find it.

  A quick glance over his shoulder told him that Sylvia was walking purposefully down the street toward him. If the Dorcas and Ambrose weren’t home, he was dead meat.

  Then Ambrose opened the door and the welcome smell of onions and garlic drifted out. Sean hadn’t eaten since breakfast and he was starving. But his mother had raised him to have manners.

  “I’m interrupting,” he said.

  “Sean!” Sylvia made a megaphone of her hands and called to him. “Wait up! I need to talk to you!”

  “Screw the interruption,” Sean said, and dove through the front door, almost knocking Ambrose down. “Sorry.”

  “No problem.”

  “If she comes to the door, tell her I’m handling some home repair emergency for you.”

  “She won’t come to the door.”

  Sean ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know about that. She saw me come in here, and she’s very determined.”

  “Don’t worry.” Ambrose smiled. “No one will bother you in this house. Won’t you have dinner with us?”

  Sean got over his panic enough to notice that Ambrose was wearing a long black bathrobe that looked like silk. Man, Sean had really intruded on their privacy. For all he knew, they ate naked. “You know, I should leave. If you’ll give me your phone number, I can call tomorrow, and we can discuss—”

  “Do I hear Sean out there?” Dorcas came from the back of the house wearing a robe similar to Ambrose’s, only purple. “It is! You’re just in time for dinner.”

  “You two weren’t expecting company.” Sean reached for the doorknob. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Dorcas hurried forward. “I cooked enough food for an army. We’ll make plans while we eat.”

  Sean’s stomach growled so loudly that he flushed. Come to think of it, this promised to be the first home-cooked meal he’d had in awhile with no strings attached. Most women who cooked for him had ulterior motives.

  Then he had a horrible thought. Surely not, but he might as well ask. In his experience, anything was possible. “Forgive me if I’m insulting you, but I hope you’re not considering…a threesome.”

  Dorcas began to laugh, but then she put her hand over her mouth and fought to control herself. “Excuse me for laughing. You poor boy, always having to be on guard. Rest assured that Ambrose and I have no sexual interest in you whatsoever.”

  “Now I’m embarrassed that I even brought it up.”

  “I can see why you would wonder,” Ambrose said. “There are some strange people out there. But Dorcas and I took a vow of sexual fidelity many, many years ago. It’s…important to us.”

  Sean nodded. “I can see that, and it’s inspiring. How long have you two been married?”

  “If I told you that,” Dorcas said, “then you could figure out how old we are. Let’s leave some mysteries unrevealed, shall we?”

  “Sure, sure. I just…” He paused, not willing to say that the two of them fascinated him and he wanted to know more.

  “Hang up your coat and come on back to the dining room,” Dorcas said. “I’ve made your favorite vegetable soup.”

  He could have sworn she’d just said she’d made his favorite, yet how could she know? His ears were still a little numb from the cold, so he probably hadn’t heard her right. In any case, a bowl of home-cooked vegetable soup sounded like the best thing in the world.

  Soon he was seated at a round dining table covered with a snowy white cloth that he hoped to hell he wouldn’t drip soup on. Sabrina perched on a carpet-covered cat tree in a corner of the room and stared at him with green eyes. Red candles flickered on the table, and there were candles in other places, too—in sconces on the wall and in holders on the buffet up against the wall.

  Dorcas must be one hell of a fast table setter, because that third place setting had appeared as if by magic. “This is great,” Sean said. “Thanks.”

  “We always start a meal holding hands and saying a little something,” Ambrose said.

  “Uh, sure.” Sean had been at several houses where they talked to their plates before eating, but hardly anybody held hands while they did that. Holding Dorcas’s hand was no big deal, but he felt a little weird grabbing onto Ambrose. Oh, well. The soup smelled fantastic, and the blessing shouldn’t take long.

  Ambrose said something that sounded like a prayer, except it was in a language Sean didn’t understand. It reminded him of the words on a dollar bill, E Pluribus Unum, so maybe it was Latin. Some sort of high-class prayer, obviously. Sean decided not to ask about it and show his ignorance.

  “Have some wine.” Dorcas didn’t wait for a response before pouring him a hefty goblet of red.

  “Thanks.” Sean was more of a beer man, but he drank the wine to be polite. “Wow, this is good.” He’d bet they’d paid at least twelve bucks for the bottle. He drank some more.

  “Have you considered our proposition?” Ambrose asked.

  Sean had never felt so relaxed in his life. This wine was outstanding. He discovered he really wanted to build their sex bench. If they thought they could help him in return, he’d give them a shot.

  Gazing at them, he couldn’t remember ever seeing two more beautiful people. “Let’s go for it.”

  “Excellent.” Ambrose beamed at him. “Dorcas, you have that special brandy for toasting moments like this. I think we need some.”

  “Coming right up.” She left the dining room and hurried into the kitchen. What a speedy lady. She had three tiny goblets and a dusty-looking decanter on the table before Sean could blink.

  The brandy had to be really old because it looked like ink coming out of the bottle. Sean felt very sophisticated as he picked up his dainty glass.

  “Before you take a drink,” Dorcas said, “tell us again what you want out of this treatment.”

  “That’s easy.” Sean thought about the women that mobbed him at every turn, his lack of freedom to move around town without being pinched or whistled at, his complete disinterest in sex. He lifted his glass and candlelight bounced off the cut crystal. The Lowells wouldn’t be able to do what he wanted, but what the hell, he’d ask.

  “Turn me into a nerd,” he said. Then he laughed, because that sounded so impossible.

  Ambrose continued to gaze at him. “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah. You can’t do it, but it’ll be fun trying.”

  “Yes.” Dorcas smiled. “It will. Bottoms up!”

  “Bottoms up.” From the corner of his eye, Sean noticed Sabrina watching him. She blinked once, very slowly.

  The brandy wasn’t nearly as good as the wine. It tasted like used motor oil, not that Sean had ever tried used motor oil, but he could guess how bad it would be to drink. He gulped the brandy anyway so he wouldn’t offend anyone. Then he chased the godawful stuff with another swallow of wine.

  Between the shot of brandy and the wine, he was feeling no pain. He’d better slow down or he wouldn’t be fit to drive home after dinner. Even his eyesight was affected. Dorcas, Ambrose and Sabrina all looked a little blurry.

  Worried that he was getting seriously drunk, he picked up his soup spoon and started to eat. It was
easily the best soup he’d ever eaten. He finished the bowl quickly.

  “More?” Dorcas asked.

  “Yes, please.” He could have dipped his spoon into the big pot on the table and finished the entire batch. Instead he satisfied himself with polishing off the second bowl she served him.

  “How are you feeling?” Dorcas sounded motherly.

  That always affected him. His mother had died when he was eighteen, probably of a broken heart. His dad had run off several years before that after losing the entire family fortune.

  “Sean?” Dorcas leaned toward him. “Are you okay?”

  He swallowed the lump that always lodged in his throat when he thought of his mother’s sad life. “Sure. So how are you going to make me look nerdy?”

  “These should help.” Ambrose reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out the ugliest pair of black-framed glasses Sean had ever seen. “Try them on.”

  Good thing he was sort of drunk. Otherwise he might not have been able to make himself put on the glasses. When he’d asked them to turn him into a nerd, he hadn’t thought he’d end up looking quite this bad. He could wear them for now until he found something better.

  But when he looked through what he assumed were clear lenses, the strangest thing happened. Dorcas and Ambrose went from blurry to sharp focus. The power of suggestion was amazing. He took the glasses off and everything got blurry again. Huh.

  “The glasses are a nice touch,” Dorcas said.

  “Yeah.” He put them on, and his vision cleared immediately. Bizarre. “Thanks.”

  “More soup?”

  He was embarrassed to take thirds, but hunger won out over embarrassment. When the soup was all gone, Dorcas disappeared into the kitchen and came out with a huge chocolate cake and a carton of vanilla ice cream.

  By the end of the meal, the metal button on the waistband of his jeans dug into his stomach. The jeans had been a little loose before, but after all, he’d eaten most of the soup and half of the chocolate cake. When he wiped some ice cream off his chin with his napkin, he imagined the napkin came in contact with an extra fold of skin.

  But that was impossible. Nobody got a double chin from one meal, no matter how much he ate. He was getting paranoid.

  And sleepy. God, he was sleepy, but that stood to reason. Too much booze, too much food, and a hectic day added up to exhaustion. But there was the sex bench to discuss.

  “Did you want to show me the plans for your bench?” he asked.

  “We can do that another day,” Ambrose said. “You look tired. Why don’t you stretch out on the sofa for awhile before you drive home?”

  The thought of stretching out anywhere sounded great, but he barely knew these people. “No, I should leave.”

  “I’m not sure that’s wise,” Dorcas said. “You have had a fair amount of wine. I would hate for you to be picked up.”

  “Me, too.” He remembered that Judy usually drove the squad car on weeknights, and she was still mad at him for refusing to go along with her handcuff games two years ago. She’d write him a ticket for sure.

  “Take the sofa,” Ambrose said. “No point in pushing your luck.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  They showed him back into the living room with its explicit stained glass, although it wasn’t as vivid at night. Dorcas found him a pillow and Ambrose rustled up a soft blanket.

  He took off the glasses and the contours of the room blurred. He must still be buzzed. “All I have for nerd props is the glasses,” he said to Ambrose. “That doesn’t seem like enough.”

  Ambrose gazed at him. “You’d be amazed at the difference they make. Keep wearing them and think nerdy thoughts.”

  Sean was too tired to argue. “If you say so.” He settled himself on the purple sofa and pulled the blanket over him. At the last minute, Sabrina hopped up on the sofa and curled up at his feet.

  Next thing he knew, faint light was coming through the stained glass sex picture and Sabrina was no longer cuddled at his feet. He glanced at his watch and saw that it was almost seven. The house was quiet, but he wasn’t about to go in search of his host and hostess. No telling what they were doing or if they were wearing anything while they did it.

  His vision was still fuzzy, and he wondered if he might be in the grip of an extreme hangover. The waist of his jeans was still tight, too. Once he put on the glasses, his vision cleared, and he didn’t have a headache, but his stomach hurt from the pinch of his jeans.

  Maybe some Pepto would help that situation. Time to head for home. Leaving the blanket and pillow folded on the sofa, he slipped out the front door, locking it behind him.

  Chapter Three

  After getting no sleep the night before, Maggie knew she should be tired, but she was wide awake as she drove her rented Escort toward Big Knob. The luck of the Irish had never worked for her before, but today was the day for four-leaf clovers and pots of gold. It was pure luck that she’d stayed an extra hour at work yesterday. If she hadn’t, she would have missed the email from the realtor here telling her about a potential location for SaveALot.

  In a deal like this, every hour counted. She’d learned that the hard way after MegaMart had beat her out on three different occasions. She couldn’t say this to H.G., but there had to be a mole in the company, somebody who was getting kickbacks for leaking info. How else to explain that MegaMart had been a step ahead of her every damned time?

  They wouldn’t beat her out on this one, though, because no one, not even H.G., knew where she was. She’d flown out of Houston on the red-eye, leaving a message on H.G.’s private line that she was scouting a prime location and could be reached on her Cell phone. But it was still too early for H.G. to have received that message.

  For now, it was just her and the location that would save her job. Jobs like hers didn’t grow on trees these days, and if she lost this one, she’d lose the car and furniture she was still making payments on. Worse, she’d lose the feeling that she was bettering herself, climbing out of the muck of financial instability that had always been her parents’ way of life.

  The realtor’s email had included a map which Maggie had printed out. Strange pattern to the streets, but she could deal. Any kid knew the contours of a five-pointed star. Besides, she had the granite outcropping of Big Knob itself to guide her. It should be coming up on her right any minute.

  The town was ripe for a big-box store. Prior to flying out last night, she’d Googled Big Knob and taken inventory of the retailers there. Typical small-town fare -- grocery, hardware store, diner, hair salon, barber shop, gas station. There was a local dairy and one church, non-denominational.

  Some of the businesses, like the Knobby Nook Department Store, might not survive after SaveALot opened its doors, but the days of such small shops were numbered, anyway. They couldn’t carry the merchandise or match the prices of the bigger corporations.

  Maggie had also spent time before leaving for the airport researching the area around Big Knob. No MegaMarts within a hundred miles. The area was crying out for SaveALot bargains and an influx of jobs. She was the girl who would bring it to them.

  At the edge of town, where the two-lane road turned into Fourth Street, she saw the old rural mailbox on the right, just as Denise had mentioned in her email. There was no For Sale sign because the property had simply been abandoned. Denise thought she’d found the owners and only needed to check a couple of things to make sure.

  Although there was no traffic at this hour of the morning, Maggie put on her turn signal before turning into the road that led to the property. She tried to avoid the potholes, but there were too many. Praying that the Escort’s shocks could take it, she drove slowly along a drive lined with leafless oak trees and a few sycamores.

  The road ended in front of the creepiest old Victorian she’d ever seen. Gray clouds filtered whatever rays might be coming from the rising sun. In the murky light she had no trouble imagining ghosts and goblins hiding behind the sagging shutters, not to mention
rats and big scary spiders scurrying along the dusty floors. Bulldozing this place would be a service to the town.

  Leaning against the steering wheel, she imagined the property cleaned up, with a shiny new SaveALot replacing the dilapidated house. Huge improvement. Paving the parking lot would mean taking out a few trees, but some could be saved to provide shade for the cars. There would be lots of cars. What a bonanza for her company, for the town…and for her.

  She climbed out of the car and raised her arms, partly to stretch, but mostly in jubilation. This would work! Then she checked her watch. Still too early to contact Denise.

  Her black heels weren’t designed for trudging around in the weeds, but she felt the urge to walk the property. She suspected that behind the house there would be a great view of Big Knob. SaveALot could put a hot dog stand back there, along with some picnic tables. Nice touch.

  Belting her trench coat tighter, she grabbed her Phone from the car so she could make a few notes. She walked around a sagging front gate that stood partway open and found a narrow path through the weeds. The path circled the house.

  As she walked, little burrs stuck to her nylons. This walkabout was probably a dumb idea, but she had to do something with her excess energy, and she felt certain the view from the back would be worth the trip. The path seemed well-worn, and she wondered why.

  Maybe kids came out here at night on a dare. Or lovers used it as a rendezvous spot, although she couldn’t imagine being able to have an orgasm while that spooky house loomed over her. A light rain began to fall, but she was almost around the house, so she shielded her glasses and kept going. Her hair would frizz, but she wasn’t here to win a beauty contest.

  As she rounded the corner, she found a tire swing hanging from a tree in what used to be the back yard. On the other side of a rotting fence, what might have been a pasture was choked with weeds like everything else, and beyond that were the decaying remnants of a stable. At one time this must have been the most magnificent house in town.