Witchful Thinking: A Jolie Wilkins Novel

by H. P. Mallory

  I felt my stomach drop. Granted, I’d hoped not to hurt Sinjin, but I hadn’t considered the fact that he might hurt me. And the truth of the matter was that his words stung me to my core because I had cared about him and still did.

  “But—” I quickly stopped myself. I didn’t need to get into the hows and whys of it because none of that mattered anyway. All that did matter was that Rand loved me and I loved him.

  “Do not misunderstand me, poppet.” Sinjin reached for my hand, pulling me against his chest. “Yes, I have always wanted to penetrate you, and yes, I desire your body even at this moment.”

  I pulled my hand out of his and pushed him away. “You’ve said enough,” I spat out and started for the door, suddenly feeling sick.

  “Do not be alarmed concerning my welfare, love,” Sinjin continued and chuckled again, calling out to me from his stance in the middle of the room. “I do not care if you love the warlock or if you love the fairy, the wolf, or any other creature. You can love them all at the same time for all I care.”

  I didn’t say anything else but ran the remaining few feet to the door and threw it open, slamming it behind me as I felt the sting of tears in my eyes. It hurt to know that Sinjin had never given a rat’s ass about me. But more than that, I was floored, wounded by the fact that he’d just made a total fool of me, that he’d just attempted to cut me down into nothing … that all he’d ever wanted from me was sex. What really hurt the most was that our friendship had never meant anything to him.

  An hour later I was sitting in my room and thinking about how Sinjin had turned out to be such an asshole. I’d never seen it coming even though he had warned me all along. He’d told me not to paint him into something I wanted him to be, not to believe him to be a good and honorable person. And I’d stupidly attributed him with characteristics I wanted him to have—maybe to make the fact that I did like him more bearable, more easily digestible. I’d been so stupid, so incredibly stupid.

  Well, I needed to stop thinking about it, I told myself resolutely. Instead I’d focus on the fact that I was almost packed for my weekend trip to Pelham Manor, where Rand would no doubt alleviate my hurt feelings with just a kiss. The need to see him was suddenly overwhelming, suffocating.

  Screw Sinjin—he could continue living like the jerk-off that he was, but he was going to do it outside Kinloch Kirk. There was no way I was going to let him continue serving as my protector after all the nasty things he’d just said to me. Maybe Klaasje would be willing to do the job herself. And on that point, I was sure Rand would be more than pleased. After all, Rand had always barely tolerated Sinjin—truly, he had been right all along. He’d always seen Sinjin for what he was—a self-centered, egotistical, childish jerk.

  I threw my backpack over my shoulder and opened my bedroom door, walking down the hallway. I took the stairs two at a time, the need to see Rand consuming me. I couldn’t wait to feel his warmth, to snuggle into his broad chest and feel his incredibly muscular arms around me. I couldn’t wait to smell him, to taste his lips, and feel him inside me. I opened the front door—and Plum darted out in front of me before I could stop her.

  “Dammit!” I yelled and ran after her as she hightailed it down the driveway and disappeared into the undergrowth just beside the drive. And like the responsible cat owner I was, I followed her into the savagery of the woods, trying to avoid the twigs and tree limbs as they reached out and seemed intent on snagging my brand-new sweater.

  “Here kitty kitty,” I called in a soft voice that hopefully didn’t sound annoyed or angry.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of something that looked like a flash lighting up the otherwise dark background of the beach just beyond Kinloch. I glanced down as Plum wove herself between my legs. Picking her up, I decided to further investigate the strange light. I forced my way through more trees, eventually emerging on the other side, where a strong wind blew through the Scottish moors.

  And there on the beach were Sinjin and Mercedes. And it looked like they were up to absolutely no good, partially hidden by the rocks of the coastline. They appeared to be in the midst of some sort of ritual or charm. I watched Mercedes close the circle she’d been drawing in the sand around both of them with a long, pointed stick. Then she closed her eyes and held her hands up toward the heavens, her lips moving like she was chanting. She opened her eyes and dropped her hands, at the same time glancing over at Sinjin and reaching for his hand.

  And that was when I realized what the hell was going on. I had seen this before—the drawing of the circle, Mercedes facing north, west, east, and south. I’d watched Mercedes cast the same spell in 1878, moments before she’d sent me back to my own time.

  I dropped the cat, who responded with an angry meow. But I wasn’t concerned with Plum at the moment. My heart thudded in my chest and my breathing came in short, shallow pants. I had … I had to tell someone. I needed help. I couldn’t handle this on my own.

  Rand! I screamed his name in my head as I turned around and started running for the tree line. I thought about running down to the beach and trying to stop Mercedes but I knew I wouldn’t make it in time. Jolie, are you all right? What’s wrong? Rand’s voice responded in my head, his tone fringed with worry.

  Rand, I need you to do as I say as quickly as you can. You can’t ask any questions because we don’t have time. I need you to go to Mathilda.

  Jolie …, Rand started and I was suddenly scared to death that he was going to drill me on the specifics. We didn’t have time for specifics.

  Find Mathilda!

  Okay, just answer me this … are you hurt?

  I felt my heart begin to calm and I tried to think without the hysteria that had accompanied my previous thoughts. No, I’m not hurt, Rand. I’m fine but I need you to find Mathilda as quickly as you can. I took a deep breath. I … I know why Sinjin has been meeting with Mercedes.

  Sinjin meeting with Mercedes? Rand repeated. What the bloody hell are you talking about?

  I had forgotten the fact that I’d never told Rand that Sinjin and Mercedes had been having secret meetings. Dammit.

  Never mind that now, Rand. Just go to Mathilda. I’m on my way as well. I took a deep breath as a thought suddenly occurred to me, one that scared me to death. If I don’t get there in time …

  Jolie, are you in trouble? For God’s sake, tell me! Rand sounded as if he was a step away from inconsolable. I could only imagine the thoughts that were going through his mind. Of course, whatever was going through his mind was probably not as bad as what was happening in reality.

  Rand, please …

  What the bloody hell is going on? If something has happened to you, tell me. I will be there momentarily.

  Rand, I don’t have time for your questions! I took a deep breath. Do whatever Mathilda says you must, even if I don’t get there in time. And I want you to know that whatever happens, I love you and I will always love you.

  My God, Jolie, if anything happens to you …

  Rand, you must tell Mathilda that Mercedes is in the process of … of sending Sinjin back in time …

  “So what did you think of Owen?” Christa asked as she leaned against the front counter lazily.

  The truth was I didn’t think of Owen. Christa had made it her own personal mission to see to it that I had a date after a six-month-long dry spell. So she’d skimmed through her Roll-a-Date of men she’d casually gone out with (some of whom she’d slept with … well, most of whom she’d slept with), and for some reason or another she’d fixated on Owen.

  “I talked to him on the phone for maybe fifteen minutes, Chris. What could I really think of him from fifteen minutes?” I asked, looking up from sweeping the floor.

  “I can find out a lot about a man in fifteen minutes,” she argued, her nose turned up defensively, as she started thumbing through the bills in the cash register and then summed them up on the spreadsheet I’d just printed out.

  “In fifteen minutes, I can find out what his favori
te color is, what his favorite food is, what his favorite position in bed is …” She looked up at me with a smile.

  “Oh God.” I shook my head.

  “Come on, Jules, you gotta give me something here. Did you at least like his voice?”

  I shrugged as I pulled the trash bag out of the can and tightened the drawstrings, ready to drop it off in the trash bins just outside. “Can you hand me a trash bag, please?”

  Christa sighed. “Not until you tell me what you thought of Owen’s voice.” But she bent down and grabbed a bag from the roll underneath the counter as if to say I didn’t really have to answer her question.

  “I just wasn’t that impressed with him. I mean, his voice was okay, maybe a little too high-pitched.”

  Christa frowned and handed me the bag while I shook it out and placed it neatly inside the bin.

  “Did you like anything about him?” she continued.

  I was quiet as I considered her question. Then I faced her squarely. “No, not really. And I don’t think I could ever date anyone who says ‘like’ so much.”

  “Well, you need to get used to the fact that you should start dating again,” she said with a grumpy frown.

  “Let’s not get into this again …”

  “Jolie, you need to get out. You’re almost thirty …”

  “Two years from it, thank you very much.”

  “Whatever … you’re going to end up old and alone. You’re way too pretty, and you have such a great personality, you can’t end up like that. Don’t let one bad phone call ruin it.”

  “It’s not about one bad phone call. I’ve had a string of bad dates, Chris. At least the last three dates I’ve been on were complete and total catastrophes.” I didn’t know what else to say—the sad truth was that I’d rather spend time with my cat or Christa than face another loser over dinner or drinks while we both searched for something we had in common that might save us from staring at each other in silence.

  Feeling suddenly depressed, I gazed out at the streetlights beyond the windows of my store and watched how they highlighted the empty street. It was a Thursday night in Los Angeles in the middle of December, which was why the sun was long gone and it was only seven p.m. Christa and I should have closed up over an hour ago but our last client had taken longer than I’d anticipated. Taken longer as in she’d suddenly freaked out when I told her I could see her aura and it looked a little yellowish, which meant she might be sick and should visit her doctor to get a physical to make sure everything was okay.

  Then she’d proceeded to unload on me—crying as she detailed her entire life’s history including her recent divorce and how she’d decided to shack up with the first guy who showed any interest in her and who, incidentally, had given her chlamydia—something she was now on antibiotics for and something that was also the reason for her yellowish aura, which should have been pink or violet.

  “Are you even listening to me?” Christa asked.

  Shaking my head, I entered the reading room and started sweeping.

  I heard the door open.

  “Well, hello to you,” Christa said in a high-pitched, sickening-sweet, and non-Christa voice.

  “Good evening.” His voice was deep, hypnotically so, and his accent thickly English.

  “Um, we’re closed,” Christa started but immediately cleared her throat. “But I’ll make an exception this one time.”

  I just shook my head as the man chuckled.

  “I do appreciate it,” he said.

  “What can I do for you?” Christa purred, her tone more befitting the question: Which do you prefer, crotchless panties or pasties?

  “I seem to have come across some trouble with my car,” the man said. “I have a flat tire and was wondering if perhaps I could use your telephone?”

  “Um, you don’t have a cell phone?” Christa asked in shock.

  The man chuckled. “I am on vacation in America and failed to hire a mobile phone, most unfortunately.”

  “Jules?” Christa called. “Is it okay if an incredibly handsome man uses our telephone?”

  Figuring I should probably make an appearance just to ensure this guy wasn’t a total weirdo before he took Christa off to his love shack for the night, I headed out of the reading room.

  When I glanced at him, it wasn’t one of those quick appraisals you usually do when you meet people and look immediately at their faces. Instead I seemed to fixate on his shiny black shoes, then moved my gaze up his tall and muscular body, ultimately settling my eyes on his face, which was by far the most handsome face I’d ever seen. It was angular with a well-defined nose and strong cheekbones. He looked like he should have graced the cover of some high-fashion men’s magazine.

  I didn’t say anything for a long time. I actually don’t even know for how long. I just stood there like a total imbecile and stared up at the man like I’d never seen one before.

  “Um, Jolie?” Christa prodded as if to say, Wake up, girl, you’re totally embarrassing yourself.

  I shook my head, hoping to collect my wits. “I’m … I’m sorry. What … What did you need again?”

  The man chuckled, and I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it, but it seemed like he’d just been looking me up and down … appreciatively. Yes, I had to be imagining it. I mean, Christa was still in the room and any man would prefer her to me.

  “I have a flat tire and my car is parked just outside your store, miss,” he said with a smile that about melted my insides. “I wonder if I might trouble you to use your telephone?”

  “Oh,” I nodded. “Yeah, sure, of course you can.”

  I needed to snap out of it. I mean, yes he was the best-looking guy I’d ever seen in my life, but was I that blindsided by looks? Was I that completely and totally shallow? Usually I was the rational Jolie who said looks weren’t what mattered. It was the person inside who did. Jeez, maybe I’d been living in LA for too long.

  “Here,” Christa said with a smile as she lifted the cordless phone from the receiver and leaned over the counter, offering him a full view of her cleavage as she handed the phone to him.

  He smiled and nodded as if to say thank you as he accepted the phone. Strangely enough, he didn’t even seem to notice her boobs, which were about to spill out of her shirt. Hmm, he was probably gay. All the best-looking ones inevitably were.

  He pulled out his leather wallet and rifled through a wad of bills and credit cards, pulling out what looked like a rental car agency’s card. The guy had to be loaded. If the wad of hundreds wasn’t sign enough, his super-expensive slacks and sweater were a good indicator.

  “I will be just over here so as not to disturb you both,” he said and started dialing as he neared the far corner of the store. Once the person on the other line picked up, he started explaining his predicament.

  “Are you all done?” I asked Christa, wanting—no, needing—to focus on anything but our incredibly handsome and, dare I say it, sexy visitor.

  Christa nodded then glanced over at him as if to make sure he wasn’t looking before she regarded me again and mouthed, Hot damn!

  I just shook my head and offered her a raised-brow expression. She glanced over at him once more, as if she couldn’t help it, and then followed me as I carried the trash to the back door.

  “Oh my gosh, is he the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen?” she demanded once we were out of earshot. “I nearly had an orgasm when he walked in the store.”

  “Chris, do you have to be so crude?” I asked and frowned at her.

  “Yeah, in this instance I do.” Then she shook her head as if she was still in disbelief.

  “Well, it looks like tonight is your lucky night,” I offered with a smile.

  “Do I look okay?” she asked and smoothed her hands down her tight, white halter top and red miniskirt. “I knew I should have worn my pink top today. It looks way better with my hair and eyes.”

  I just shook my head. “Chris, you look great. You’re gorgeous and I’m sure he’s alrea
dy thinking about where he’s going to take you to dinner.” Well, it was a white lie—I was convinced he was more interested in what she’d be like between the sheets.

  “You think?” she beamed.

  “I’m sure,” I said and opened the back door, heading for the trash cans in the alleyway. Christa stayed inside, which was just as well. I’m sure she wanted a little alone time with the handsome man anyway. I pulled open the bin’s cover and threw the trash into it. Then I started for my store, wondering what in the hell I was going to eat for dinner tonight. I was out of Healthy Choice frozen dinners but I really didn’t feel like going to the grocery store. Of course, the cat also needed more Fancy Feast …

  When I walked back inside, the handsome man was sitting on the couch in the front entry and Christa was nowhere to be seen.

  My stomach dropped.

  “Um, where did my friend go?” I asked, trying to sound like I wasn’t completely freaking out.

  The man shrugged. “She said she had to leave to get ready for a …” He smirked as if he was about to say something funny. “Hot date I believe she termed it.”

  I felt myself swallow down a lump of dread as I fingered my cell phone, which, thank God, was in my pocket. What had this creep done with Christa? There was no way in hell she would have left without taking him with her … as in home for the night.

  I glanced at the counter, where Christa had left her bag, and noticed that it too was missing.

  “Oh, okay,” I said and tried to maintain the appearance of someone who wasn’t seriously about to pee herself in fear. I grabbed the broom and headed for the front door. “I’ll just be out here sweeping the entry, but make yourself at home while you wait.”

  The man smiled at me warmly. “I will, thank you.”

  I nodded and tried to keep myself from running outside. Instead I walked to the front door, and when I made it through I almost wanted to sigh with relief. I started sweeping, heading farther and farther down the sidewalk and farther from the stranger’s line of sight. Once I was beyond my storefront and safe from prying eyes, I immediately speed-dialed Christa.