She hauls me past the waste of a Chinese restaurant and several fire exit stairs. “Almost there,” she promises seconds before we reach a rusty iron door. “See?” She points to a small neon sign. It reads Madame Josephine. Palmist, Tarot Reader, and Healer.
I’m staring at the green, blinking letters when a distant memory pushes through my consciousness.
****
A date. Why in God’s name did I agree to go on a date with Alexander Remington? Sure, he’d made it sound like it wasn’t a big deal when he tried to convince me it was just dinner between two friends, but I knew better.
Threading his fingers through mine, he pulled me toward a small Indian restaurant. “Damn, I’m starving.” He sounded so happy and carefree, it scared the crap outta me.
I jerked my hand out of his and faced him. “I can’t do this.” Alex and I weren’t friends, and we never would be. He just didn’t know it yet.
Bending down, he smiled. “Can’t do what, Manda? Have dinner?”
I shook my head. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
He squinted. “No, I don’t.”
I was frustrated. “Us, going on a freakin’ date, Alex. I mean, we don’t even like each other.” That sounded stupid even to my own ears. It was the truth, though. Yeah, we couldn’t take our hands off each other, and lately we’d spent more time kissing than fighting, but Alex was still the kinda guy who thought he was meant to save the world while I would only ever try to save myself.
For the longest time, he just stared at me, his malachite eyes eager to read me. “It’s just a meal, Manda.”
My brows rose. “Is it?” I asked, annoyed he not only lied to me but also himself. “Curry turns into pasta, and before we know it, we’re all dressed up in some fancy restaurant and you’re trying to put a ring on my finger.”
“Wow.” He laughed. “Easy, there. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not the marrying type.”
He isn’t the type who dates a selfish bitch either. “Then why the fuck are we doing this?” In a couple of days, our little road trip would draw to an end, and if God was as merciful as he’d been painted, we’d never see each other again.
“Amanda.” He reached for my hand, but I pulled away.
“No,” I said. “This is crazy and stupid. We should head back to the motel and do what we do best.”
With one long stride, he closed the distance between us. “Tempting.” His lips brushed the edge of my mouth. “But…” He trailed kisses down my neck, and I instinctively dropped my head back, giving him more access. “I need some real food for a change.”
I shied away. “You’re a jerk, Alex.”
“It’s what you like about me.” The wicked grin and the confidence in his voice irritated me like hell. When I didn’t say anything, he rested his hands on each side of my shoulders and sighed. “Relax, Manda. We’re on the same page. Friends with benefits, right?”
When our little affair had started, those words pushed the fear and doubt I had about us into oblivion. Now they sounded like a bad excuse. “Because that worked so well for Justin Timberlake and Mila Kunis?” I shot back, hoping he’d see how absurd this all was.
Alex’s beautiful eyes darkened. “Life isn’t a movie,” he countered. “There ain’t no happily ever after in real life.”
I felt defeated and didn’t even know why. The right thing to do was to tell him what I really was, to turn the fuck around and walk away. Instead, I let him drag me across the street without further resistance. One pathetic witch I am.
Soft autumn rain dropped down on us as he led me past a shop window decorated with dream catchers, a golden Hand of Fatima, and Ra’s All-Seeing-Eye. A small sign leaned against the door: Palm Reading. Money Back Guarantee. I hadn’t touched my cards in weeks and felt like a meth addict going cold turkey.
Only when Alex stood in front of me, did I realize I had stopped walking. “Want to get your palms read?” There wasn’t a pinch of salt in his voice.
Nervous laughter escaped me. “Don’t tell me you believe in this stuff.” I hated to sound like a skeptic, but playing the game was essential for survival.
He scrubbed his fingers through his thick dark brown hair. “I kinda do.”
Alex was a hunter who worked for the Paranormal Analysis Unit of the FBI—of course he believed in palm reading. He had firsthand experience of what the supernatural could do. Hearing him say it out loud, though, warmed my heart. Back in the day, before I learned love was an illusion, I’d dreamed of being with someone who accepted magic exists. Someone who wouldn’t think I was nuts when I told him the truth about me. Now I stood next to a guy like that and had to act like it was all bullshit. How ironic is that?
“So, you’re into new age crap?” I asked, keeping up the façade.
Disappointment skated over his remarkable features. “I don’t burn incense or pray to Ganesha, if that’s what you mean.” He glared at the Eye of Providence in the shop window. “But I do believe there’s more between heaven and earth than most of us know.”
“But palm reading?” I forced a half-hearted smile. “Do you honestly believe someone can see the future in the palm of your hand?”
Alex wiped a few raindrops off his face and frowned. “Doesn’t matter what I believe,” he said, his aura changing into a dark, sad blue. “You obviously think I’m nuts.” Alex wasn’t naïve. He knew he had to pay a high price for hunting evil. Settling down, or being completely honest with a girl, just wasn’t in the cards for him. He had accepted his fate a long time ago. Yet it hurt him I was just another chick who’d laugh at him if he told me the truth.
****
Bonnie bangs against the iron door like a lunatic. “Where the hell is she?”
I forget about Alex and reach for her hand. “Let’s just go. My shift starts in an hour, and Lindy is gonna kill me if I’m late.” That isn’t the only reason I want to get the hell away from here, but it’s the most convincing.
Bonnie pulls her phone out of her coat and shakes her head. “Give me a minute.”
If you love me, God, you’ll let that door stay closed. I have no intention of learning about my future. A part of me—a very big part—is terrified of what the fortuneteller might see. The nightmares are all about Alex. What if he’s in trouble? Or worse, what if those dreams are death omens? Could I stand back and do nothing if I knew what was coming for him? Would I be dumb enough to break the deal we’d made and let him back in my life? I lean against the cold brick wall, realizing I never want an answer to any of those questions.
The heavy door swings open and a bald dude in his early forties walks out. “She’s expecting you,” he mumbles before rushing down the alley.
So much for your unconditional love, God.
My muscles stiffen. “Any chance I can bribe you into leaving?”
She grabs my wrist and hauls me inside. Guess that means no.
We head down the narrow hallway. The walls are covered in red paint and ornaments of golden glitter. Rose incense sticks burn on a small cabinet. The scent is a welcoming change from the Chinese waste outside.
Bonnie’s fingers are wrapped around a black velvet curtain.”Ready?”“Would you care if I said no?”
She draws the curtain to the side and grins.
A wave of nostalgia washes over me as I step into the fortuneteller’s kingdom. I used to be the girl running the show. The one everyone paid to get a reading. That was before I turned into a boring student.
Madame Josephine, a born-and-bred Roma, sits at a small table glaring into a massive Berg crystal. The woman is beautiful despite her age. I totally dig the golden coins around her neck and the low-cut V-neck blouse showing off her cleavage. “I’ve been expecting you,” she says, not looking up. “Take a seat.”
I hesitate. “Look, I don’t need—”
Her sharp gray eyes meet mine. The blood drains from her face. “You?”
I’m not sure what to make of the freaked-out look she gives me. �
��Have we met?”
The woman’s head snaps in Bonnie’s direction, who, by the way, appears as confused as I am. “Are you out of your mind, child?”
Bonnie cups her elbows. “No. Are you?”
Madame Josephine’s eyes widen, and she explodes out of the chair. “How dare you bring an untouchable into my home, Bonnie.”
“A what?” Bonnie and I say in unison.
“An untouchable,” Madame Josephine repeats.
Bonnie smirks. “Like Eliot Ness?”
Horror washes over Madame Josephine’s face. Then, after a long period of awkward silence, she meets my gaze. “Get out of my place and leave me be.”
I’m close to losing my shit, but something tells me it wouldn’t help my case. Drawing in a deep breath, I swallow the anger growing inside me. “I have no idea what the hell is wrong with you, lady, but I can assure you I’m not an…” What was it she thought I was again? Ah, yeah. “An untouchable.”
The woman stumbles backward. “You’re lying.”
My temper takes over. “Am not!”
Bonnie steps between us. “All right, let’s all just calm down.” She faces Madame Josephine. “Whatever you think she is, you’re wrong. We came to you for a reading. That’s all.”
“Let’s just go, B. I’m clearly not welcome here.”
“No,” Bonnie says, standing her ground. “Not until she tells us why she’s acting like you’re the devil incarnated.”
Madame Josephine’s gaze drifts back and forth between Bonnie and me. After what feels like forever, her shoulders sink and her face softens. “You really don’t know, do you?”
She’s pissing me off. “What don’t I know?”
A sigh ripples through her. “Even if I wanted to read for you—which I don’t—I couldn’t.”
“Why?” Bonnie sounds as mad as I feel.
Does it really matter? The woman is clearly nuts.
A muscle in Madame Josephine’s jaw pops, and she backs up farther. “Untouchables are immune to the magic of other witches. It’s what makes them the most powerful and most feared witches of all.”
I’ve had about enough. “She’s clearly been hit on the head. Let’s go.”
I start to turn and walk away, but the crazy woman stops me. “Wait,” she orders.
“What? You gonna accuse me of sacrificing babies?”
“I can prove I’m right.”
“How?” Bonnie’s voice is rough and deep.
Madame Josephine looks at me. “Has someone ever been able to read you?”
“You mean my cards?” I don’t even know why the hell I’m still talking to her, but I guess a part of me is curious.
Madame Josephine shakes her head. “Cards, aura, emotions?”
I don’t know any other aura readers, and I’d never felt the need to get a tarot reading, but I think of Alex and Jesse. Two of the best hunters in the world, with the most sophisticated instinct when it comes to detecting witches. They never recognized me for what I truly am. “I’m not sure.”
“Have you ever been hexed?”
What the hell is she trying to say? “Not that I know of. Why? What does it matter?”
“It confirms what I just said,” the woman replies. “Other magic does not touch you.”
Bonnie, who’s been awfully quiet, cocks a brow. “If she was untouchable—and I’m not saying she is—then how the hell are you able to read her?”
“I can’t,” she croaks.
This is total bullshit. “You say you can’t read me, yet you claim to know I’m an untouchable? No offense, lady, but you’re nuts.” I pivot, ready to get the fuck outta here and never look back.
“I’ve seen you in my dreams, Amanda,” Madame Josephine shouts after me. “Darkness will claim you. There’s no escaping it.”
Bonnie slams the rusty iron door behind her.
“Maybe it wasn’t such a great idea after all,” she murmurs as we walk down the alley and back to the street.
“Gee.” I give her a look. “You think?”
Chapter 7
Pissed at the world, I barge through the back entrance of the diner. Madame Josephine can kiss my sweet little ass. I was declared evil before I was born. Why should I give a fuck about this untouchable business?
It would explain Mother Dearest’s premonition, though. Me, as the queen of the underworld, bringing about the end of the world? Hilarious. I might be a selfish bitch, but it takes more than that to become Satan’s new bride.
Like being an untouchable?
I fucking hate the voice in my head.
Ready to rip someone’s heart out, I march to my door-less locker. Some days are better spent in bed. This is one of those. I change into my stupid uniform and get ready to endure Lindy.
The swing door hasn’t shut behind me yet when Lindy’s shrill voice echoes through the kitchen. “Amanda! Office! Now!”
Office? I’m in trouble. Bracing myself for what’s to come, I follow her to the rat-hole. Plaster crumbles from the ceiling, and I swear I hear mice squeaking.
None of that seems to bother Lindy. “Sit down,” she orders, pointing to a moldy leather chair across from her.
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Sit. Now.” I bet there are dead rats under the cushions. I choke back disgust and do as she says. My skin crawls as the fucked-up leather sinks beneath me. I need a shower. Or two.
Lindy’s narrow eyes pierce a hole in my chest. The woman must have invented the evil eye. “Wanna spill the beans, or are you going to pretend you don’t have a fucking clue why you’re here?”
Spill the beans? The bitch makes being late sound like I’ve emptied the register. “I know I’m late, but—”
“Late?” She throws her head back and laughs. “You think this is about the twenty minutes I will cut from your wage?”
Actually, five minutes, but I’d be crazy to tell her. Wired, she jumps from her chair. Her auburn-colored pixie hair stands on end. “Try again, Amanda.”
Studying her hard features, I look for hints. The thing is, Lindy always looks mad. I miss seeing auras. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Lindy.”
The walrus of a woman advances toward me. Hatred darkens her mean piggy eyes. “After everything I’ve done for you,” she snaps. “You dare lie to my fucking face?”
Having no idea what exactly it is she thinks she’s done for me, I cock a brow. “I’m not lying.”
She plops her substantial weight on a less than sturdy table, bending the material like it’s freaking rubber. “Oh, you’re not?” A wicked grin appears on her lips. “Then let me ask you this: how many times have I told you no hitting on my customers?”
Just the thought of regulars like Barry the pervert or filthy Jack sends repulsive shockwaves through me. I’d have to suffer from eye cancer to hit on one of them.
Lindy clenches her stubby fingers around the edge of the table. “What’s the matter, girl? Ain’t got nothing to say?”
“Do you even hear yourself? What makes you think a girl like me”—I get up and show off my body—“would hit on your customers?”
She looks clueless. “So you’re saying Mr. Prada asked for your schedule for no other reason than your waiting skills?” Her nasty laughter rings in my ears like freaking tinnitus. “Do you think I was born yesterday?”
I think you were born in freaking hell! “Who the fuck is Mr. Prada?” I have my suspicions, but I need Lindy’s confirmation.
“Quit playing blonde. It’s not like this place is crawling with guys in fancy suits.”
No doubt in my mind she’s talking about Legend, and while it bugs me the guy asked her for my schedule, I don’t see how it gives her the right to treat me like a piece of shit. Done listening to her crap, I meet her gaze. “I’m only gonna say this once, Lindy.” My tone is sharp. “I’m not dating Mr. Prada or any of your other fucked-up customers.”
“That better be the truth,” she yells after me as I stomp to the exit.
I clench the doorknob so tight, my knuckles pale. “Ever read the Wizard of Oz?”
“Don’t get smart with me, girl.”
I peek over my shoulder. “I’m not getting smart with you. Just wondering if you know what happens to wicked bitches.” I clear my throat. “I mean witches.”
She squeaks and throws her shoe against the door, barely missing my head. “Get the fuck outta my face and do something useful for a change!”
Gladly.
Infuriated, I stalk out of the office and into the diner, where I spot the next evil. It lurks at table five. The second the Nun, and Bitch aka Jules, and Bitchier aka Ava lay eyes on me, they put their heads together and start whispering. I’m sure as hell no angel, but it’s days like these when I wonder how the fuck I deserve this shit.
I want to ignore the morons, but I’d probably lose my job if I did, so I prepare myself mentally for another standoff, grab three menus, and amble over to their table.
“Hello, Amanda,” Chelsea says. “Didn’t know you’d be working today.”
That’s a lie. My schedule hangs on our fridge. I throw the menus on the table and scowl. “What do you want?”
Roommate From Hell puts a hand on her heart. “Gosh, why do you have to be so rude all the time?”
“Don’t know.” I give her my best fake smile. “Why do you have to be so annoying all the time?”
Chelsea opens her mouth. No words come out.
I pull notepad and pen out of my apron. “What can I get you ladies? Frog legs? Puppy eyes? Virgin blood?”
Chelsea flinches. Ava looks like she’s about to vomit on the table, and Jules seems downright scared.
“I don’t have all day,” I remind them.
“C-Coffee and p-pie,” Chelsea stammers.
I jot down the order and stride back to the kitchen. I swear, if this day gets any worse, I’ll put a coma hex on myself.
“There you go,” Joe says, handing me three slices of apple pie.
“Thanks,” I murmur and walk back to the bitch squad.
I put the plates down and pour their coffees. “Anything else?”
Soulmates Page 5
