Hot Spell

by Shiloh Walker

  “No. And really, you could only say his offer was unethical if he had tried to force my acceptance. There is nothing in the law or tradition that forbids a professor from performing the ritual with a willing graduate, quite the opposite. It’s an accepted way for equal pairings to take place.”

  “Then why not accept him? He is enormously rich and powerful. Sounds like what most women want in a match. What made you refuse him?”

  “I refused him because a match between us would be anything but equal.” A shiver raised goose flesh on her arms and she rubbed both, running her hands up and down. “He is the most powerful Warlock in the world. Do you know what that would make me?”

  “The most powerful woman?”

  “No, I’d be the woman under his control, not only magickally, but physically and sexually.”

  “You don’t think he would allow you equal footing in a marriage?”

  “No. And neither do you. If it were equal, why would he have to allow it?”

  He harrumphed. “I see your point. Still, I can’t help but wonder how you got the courage to turn him down, seeing you are so frightened of him?”

  “Are you kidding? My fear of his participation outweighed every other terror. The mind boggles at the thought of attempting to control him during my Opening. I tell you, it is enough to give me lock-spell.”

  “Well,” he said, smiling slowly, showing a glimpse of white, even teeth, “I hope you do not have that problem with me.”

  She leaned back against the cushions and felt her mouth widen in a teasing smile. “I am feeling wonderfully relaxed with you, Ethan. Why don’t we check out how relaxed we can get? What say we indulge in a little practice before the main event…?”

  His smile widened. “I am at my Lady’s command.”

  “No Lady, yet, Ethan. That’s where you come in.” She chuckled. “Pun intended!”

  How could everything have gone so incredibly, impossibly wrong?

  Moriah shook her head, stuffing her wayward memories back under lock and key. Grimacing at the clammy, sticky feel of her damp panties, she shifted her hips and reached down to pull the soggy cloth away from her crotch. Thank the goddess she kept spare clothing at the office.

  Having checked the GPS crystal to calculate the remaining time of her flight, and finding the Hoover now inclined to cooperate with her magick, Moriah seamlessly synched the global positioning spell to whisk her along the flight lane with no glitches. Moriah turned her thoughts to the meeting she had scheduled for this morning.

  She rubbed her hands together, gleefully anticipating the reactions of the upper echelon at J.A.A. That zing of excitement that told her she had come up with another winner sizzled through her bloodstream and she knew the senior partners were going to be jazzed at what she had come up with in response to their biggest client’s request. If justice ruled, the title and salary of MVP would soon be hers! Now, if only her fluctuating magick would cooperate! Six days stood between her and freedom. If she could just get through the next seven days without mishap, the eighth would see her on her way to achieving all her goals.

  On the seventh day, her magick would return to being predictable.

  On the seventh day, she could cure her daughter.

  On the seventh day, the goddess rested.

  Moriah sighed.

  Six days and counting…

  Chapter Three

  Monday, October 25, 9:14 a.m. (Northwestern Division time)

  “Moriah, thank goodness you’re here! The Stupid Punks have been calling down every ten minutes, looking for you!”

  “Good morning to you, Patricia. One of these days, the Senior Partners are going to hear your colorful substitutions and I’ll be unable to save your bacon. What’s the problem?” She slung her briefcase onto the desk and slipped her jacket off. Rolling her shoulders, she made her way over to the coffee machine and poured a cup of what passed for brew.

  “What’s the problem? How about Micronsoft and Norton are scheduled to arrive for a meeting taking place in fifteen minutes and the acting head of Research and Development, who also happens to be the chief developer on the project, has not reported in? Oh, I’d be careful with that coffee, if I were you. It’s not the—”

  “Oh, sh—crap!” Moriah hollered, spewing the mouthful of nasty liquid out of her mouth. Had to remember to watch those curse words now she had a daughter. “What is this crud?” She shuddered, eyeing what was supposed to be her morning coffee with a lethal glare.

  Patricia snickered. “The latest cost-cutting crap foisted on us by the powers-that-be. The Shit Pots may believe in expensive fronting for the public, but here in the back offices, where the real work takes place, they pinch pennies until they bleed…or our stomachs do.”

  “They’d better pinch their pennies elsewhere,” she groused. “I really hate it when they screw with my coffee! The last time I had a decent cup, I had to conjure it, myself.”

  Patricia heaved an exaggerated sigh and crossed her plump arms over ample breasts, watching her boss dump her cup into the sink before stalking back to her desk. “I remember when you used to make coffee for our department all the time,” she said pensively. “That was before you decided to dump us low-lifers and go chasing after fame and corporate glory. Now, look at you—beautiful sable brown hair hanging in a lifeless clump, gray eyes—too big for your face—sunken in swollen sockets above bruised pouches. And just look at the rest of you, worn down to skin and bones.”

  Moriah leaned back in her chair and eyed her only friend. A slow smile tugged the corner of her mouth, as she drawled, “Hey, you don’t have to sugar-coat your sentiments for me…tell me what you really think!”

  She enjoyed her interactions with Patricia, having never had a close friend to just chat and shoot the breeze with before. The closest she had come had been the camaraderie she had shared with Ethan before and during her graduation ceremony. The smile slid off her face. Ethan had never existed.

  “Since you asked—” Patricia drew closer, intent on elaborating her concerns for her friend. “I know something is wrong, really wrong with you, with your life. I know when you first arrived you were running from something dangerous. Now, maybe that something or someone has caught up with you, or is closing in—”

  “Patricia, you don’t—”

  “Stop, okay?” She held up her hand, forestalling Moriah’s instinctive denial. “Just…stop. I’m trying to let you to know that I’m worried about you and I want to help you. I will help you with whatever you need, whenever you need it. All you have to do is ask.”

  The evidence of her friend’s caring proved too much, and she couldn’t say anything for a minute, too choked up to respond. “You are so—” she cleared her throat. “No one has ever—” she closed her eyes to stop the tears from escaping. “Thank you, Patty.”

  “You are very welcome. After all, that’s what friends are for, but call me Patty again,” her chunky side-kick dead-panned, waving her letter opener like a sword, “and I will gut you like a pig.”

  Moriah jumped up, throwing her arms as far around her chubby friend as she could reach. Squeezing her in a tight hug, she howled with laughter at the unexpectedness of her pal’s ridiculous threat. She felt the tremors of humor Patricia could not subdue and laughed even harder. “You fake! You are so good for me! Thank you.”

  Their laughter had lightened the tension. “That laugh did me good. Now, though, I have about five minutes to get my act together. I’d better get to work.”

  Rattling off a series of orders pertaining to the upcoming presentation, she removed her traveling shoes and slipped on a pair of dark green heels to match her suit. Snatching up a brush, she browbeat her auburn cloud of unruly curls into a tight chignon. She clipped a pewter barrette to the base of the slippery mass, hoping the hairdo would hold through the meeting.

  Mind occupied on the strategy she planned to use, she buttoned up her lace blouse, shutting away any hint of cleavage. Donning a pair of classic gold earrin
gs, she moved back over to the mirror.

  “Can you get me the M&N file dated 10-17-13? And call Roddy to verify the fire-wall is set-up exactly as I specified.”

  She heard the secretary’s customary snort at the sound of Roderick Hall’s nickname.

  “What delusions of grandeur inhabit that man’s mind, to go around calling himself Roddy? I’d like to see his rod just once…” she glanced up, her blue eyes and rosy face radiating innocence, “for proof, is all,” she added when Moriah’s involuntary chuckle reached her. “Oh, hush that giggling and turn around so I can see what repairs you still need.”

  A quick swipe of cheery berry lipstick completed her power look and Moriah obediently spun about with her arms wide. “How do I look?”

  “Like the hands down winner of the M.V.P. award,” Patricia prophesied with an admiring smile, dropping the heavy folder onto her friend’s outstretched hands. “Knock ‘em dead, Lady.”

  Moriah froze. The color leeched from her face, leaving her skin blanched and waxen. Her fingers went slack, losing their grip on the bulging file. It slid from her grasp to hit the floor, papers cascading from it like the last fall of winter’s leaves. She stood there shaking; skin pebbling with goose bumps, chilled by the touch of a deadly wind.

  “Great Lord and Lady, Moriah, look what you’ve done!” Patricia exclaimed, watching the papers explode every which way. Dropping to her knees, she began quickly shoving the papers back into their folder. “We’ll never get this report back together in time for the meeting.”

  One shaking hand gripped the kneeling woman’s shoulder, bringing her movements to a halt. Slim fingers dug into the soft flesh in warning. “You must never call me ‘Lady’, Patricia,” she whispered through bloodless lips. “Not even in jest. There might be…repercussions…persons listening and hearing what we don’t want them to hear.”

  Her hands stilling on the papers, the secretary nodded. Moriah could almost see her intelligent brain working overtime. Finally, still avoiding her eyes, Patricia said quietly, “I understand. It won’t happen again.”

  Gathering up all the papers and tucking them back in the folder as best she could, she got to her feet with a little huff of exertion. Extending the bulging file, she said, “Here you are…again. And you’d better get going. The Sexless Pricks are probably shitting bricks by now.”

  The insubordinate title surprised a laugh out of Moriah. Rolling her eyes, she sputtered between giggles, “What am I to do with you? You are incorrigible!”

  “Go get us a raise!”

  “I shall certainly try.”

  “And get us some decent coffee.”

  Straightening her shoulders, she shifted the file to the bend of her right arm and hefted her briefcase in her left hand. Closing her eyes, she mouthed a brief prayer. Lord and Lady, don’t let my magick go haywire this morning. I can’t afford to blow this.

  *****

  Ten men were seated at the long table when she walked in to the large conference room. Engaged in what seemed to be a heated conversation, they glanced up absently, then, in concert, snapped their heads around for a second, prolonged look. As if responding to the direction of a conductor’s baton, they came to their feet in concert, all ten pairs of eyes widening as they swept the svelte, ultra feminine figure of the talented R&D Department Head of Jonathans, Athencrombie and Athemay: Superior Spells and Cogent Conjurations.

  Mr. Athemay, the least senior member of the company, made the introductions. “Miss Morris, allow me to present Mr. Nathan Gerhard and Blythe Turnery of Micronsoft Operating Spells, along with their personal assistants, the brothers, Mr. Thomas and Anthony Ranger.”

  He waited while she acknowledged the men and returned their greetings before gesturing at the remaining men. “These other gentlemen, Mr. Ronald Eddies and Mr. Sebastian Campbell represent Norton Anti-Conjure-Virus. Their personal assistant is Mr. Arnott Blathenby. You already know Mr. Athencrombie and Mr. Jonathans.”

  She flashed them all a wide, welcoming smile, subliminally aware of the rise of testosterone in the room. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

  Bringing up her wrist, she consulted her watch. “Ah! It is nine-thirty and we are right on schedule. If you gentlemen will please be seated, we can get started.”

  She made a show of spreading out her files and records as she waited for the men to get settled. Once the noise level abated, she lifted her head and made a visual sweep of the table, meeting the eyes of each man in turn.

  “First, let me just say that the firm of Jonathans, Athencrombie and Athemay are proud that you considered us as the provider for your business needs. After you witness the demonstration we have planned for you this morning, I believe you will agree with me that our firm is capable of meeting any challenge. Well, time is money, so let’s get started.”

  Pressing a button on the control panel before her, she lowered the lights in the room, turning on the projector at the same time. The quiet mechanism hummed as the screen lowered along the wide back wall of the conference room. “If I can direct your attention to the screen…” Modulating her speaking voice to ensure the soothing tones did not detract from the information, she started the short power-point presentation she had prepared. “You can see that the number one growing irritant to personal computer operators is the threat of being hacked and infected by a malicious virus.”

  Click.

  “This chart shows the dramatic increase in viral infections over the last three years.”

  Click.

  “This next chart shows the decreased level of sales for Norton Anti-Conjure-Virus over the last three seasons, due to the inability of your software-based protection to prevent the incursion of the more sophisticated viruses.”

  Click.

  “Now, this following chart graphs the monetary loss incurred by Micronsoft Spells due to the destruction of information stored in their gigantic central mainframe computer after a remote viral infection was detonated in the matrix of your CPU. This particular attack was only one of five successful incursions during the last four years. Each one has caused increased damage.”

  Click.

  “These are the projected earnings and loss figures for the current season and the next three years, based on the present climate of consumer dissatisfaction. Micronsoft’s figures are displayed on the left, Norton’s on the right. As you can see, the numbers decrease steadily, taking a sharp dive in the middle of the third year.”

  Click.

  “This last chart is an extrapolation of data collected on the pattern of viral infections: the general areas of the country where they seem to originate as well as the time of year they peak. Notice the star-burst patterns that mark the areas here, here and here…” She used the laser pointer to pinpoint her selections. “Do you see the significant placements? The major starbursts all have concentric centers. This means there is a center from which these viruses are flowing. The evidence suggests each starburst is the work of one hacker. What this means is that one person or entity is responsible for generating numerous attacks. The problem is not the virus. As always, the problem is the carrier. Stop the hackers, make their fun unprofitable and eventually you stop the viral infections. “

  Click.

  She allowed the men to contemplate the evidence her team had gathered. As resounding silence reigned, she pushed the buttons that shut off the projector, retracted the screen and brought up the lights.

  “Gentlemen, these attacks by criminals unknown but not unknowable is costing your companies millions. It is costing the general public billions because like all profit-minded companies, Micronsoft and Norton pass their losses on to their clients—the end consumers.”

  Moriah pulled out the wheeled chair by her side and gracefully sat down. Crossing her right leg over her left, she flexed her left foot, setting the chair swinging lightly. The side-to-side motion caused her breasts to sway in a smooth gentle shifting of mounds. Once she saw the men’s eyes were riveted, she brought her chair to a halt.
>
  “Gentlemen, you came to us because you realized this anarchy must stop. You approached us in tandem because you expected the potential cost of a product capable of dealing effectively with hackers would be enormously expensive if bankrolled by just one company. And you were correct.”

  Pushing up from the chair, she placed both hands on the conference table and leaned close to deliver her announcement. “Imagine being the first companies to go public with a guaranteed firewall. Imagine a firewall that not only stops an incursion, but targets the originator of the virus, putting them out of commission. Safely open attachments and store your information. Safe Internet surfing, peace of mind… What would it be worth? What are you willing to pay?”

  “Providing you could actually deliver such a firewall, we would be willing to pay two billion dollars.” Blythe Turnery of Micronsoft met her eyes. His pale blue gaze held wariness and hope in equal measure.

  Ronald Eddies stood up. “Each company. I will not lie. Such a sum is a sizable chunk of our operating budget. However, if the hackers can be stopped and the viruses can be contained, we stand to make that much and more in the first quarter, providing the spell cannot be duplicated.”

  “I have developed the answer to your dilemma. And I tell you, it will—”

  Pandemonium broke loose.

  “Is it possible?”

  “Show us!”

  “Brava, Miss Morris!”

  “I don’t believe it!”

  Moriah waved a nonchalant hand, signaling for quiet. “Oh, it is very possible, Mr. Gerhard…very possible, indeed. There’s just one thing—” she paused with intrinsic dramatic timing.

  Flipping a toggle on the control panel, she opened a channel on the intercom board. “Roddy, initiate the first phase of the Anti-Virus Containment Program demonstration…and for the goddess’ sake, find me a decent cup of coffee: black, two sugars.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Right away.”