“As well as can be expected for someone who’s dying,” Larena replied, her voice filled with bitterness that stung like salt in the slash she’d cut with her earlier remark about Ben.
Pain tightened Reid’s shoulders; however, he took a step closer, grabbed hold of her hand, and attempted a more compassionate question. “How are you holding up?”
She shrugged. “Okay, I guess. Hadn’t really thought about me.”
“You’d be wise to do so.” Shango flashed a knowing grin. “You won’t be of any use to your mother without your health—mentally, physically, or especially magically.”
Reid eyeballed the man, considering his statement about magic. They’d probably be an even match in strength, although Reid couldn’t compete against a witch.
Shango stepped aside and slapped Reid on the back.
Reid swiveled to face his potential opponent, who met his tense stance with the derision of a chuckle.
“With Larena’s help, my resort will be furnished and open for business by the Yule.” Shango nodded to Larena. “All of the furniture and accessories we discussed shall be perfect. I’ll arrange to have my workers pick them up later this afternoon and deliver payment then, if that’s acceptable.”
“Yes, it is. Thank you.” She beamed. “I’ll come by your resort tomorrow morning before I open, maybe at seven if it works for you, to help place the enchanted items for best advantage.”
Shango returned a dazzling, white smile. “No. Thank you, Larena. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow. And if you like, please join me for breakfast.”
“That sounds so nice. I will,” she replied.
Reid snorted. Had Larena blushed in response to that greaseball’s schmoozing?
“Wonderful. See you then.” Shango walked with a confident head-held-high stride to the door and exited, without eliciting the slightest jingle from the door’s bells.
Something about the man grated against Reid. “I don’t like him.” He joined Larena, who’d moved to the checkout counter.
A grin teased her dimples as she twirled the curl at the end of her braid. “Too bad. I like him just fine.”
“I can see that. Are you wanting to date him?” The question left Reid’s mouth with a sour taste and made him grimace. Why had he asked that?
Her gaze landed on him, then fluttered away as her cheeks brightened to a rosy red. “It’s none of your business.”
“Is he a witch?”
“Nope.” A muffled giggle escaped her lips.
He leaned against the counter, closer to her. “What did he whisper to you?”
“Not your business either.” She flashed him a repressed smile, her green eyes glittering with hazel flecks, and headed toward the workroom.
“Wait.” He took a couple steps after her. “I thought we could talk more about how I might adjust the mall deal to make it work for you.”
“You thought wrong,” she said over her shoulder, the sway of her golden braid past the curves of her hips tempting him.
He halted, feet planted. “Larena…” Unable to put words to the emotions confounding him, his voice caught.
She paused at the doorway. “Yes?”
Rapt by her smoldering eyes, confusion clouded his thoughts. “Um, nothing.” He strode for the door, struggling to bring to mind visions of Wall Street.
Chapter Nineteen: Paramnesia
Half past midnight in the witching hour of Monday morning, the rising last quarter moon pushed above the neighboring hilltop. In Sibeal’s Victorian parlor, moonlight filtered through the holey sheers underneath dust-laden drapes. Dressed in her nightclothes, an ankle-length flannel gown and fluffy slippers, she’d stayed up late to pay respects to Goddess Cerridwen. The crone goddess’ cauldron of wisdom overflowed during a waning moon.
Pink foam curlers dangled around Sibeal’s face, in the hair she now excluded from her bun style. Planning a visit to the market tomorrow, she wanted to look more polished and less disheveled—a new tactic to compete with Keir, who often tended toward the offbeat and eccentric with his layered shamanic amulets. While some idolized his bohemian cool, others might be put off by his outlandishness. Or so she hoped.
As the slivered crescent moon smiled at Sibeal, Aunt Evelyn, who inhabited the doorknocker, let out a wild shriek. Had the last quarter’s energy shot a twitch through the deceased relation? Before Sibeal could investigate, the striker clanked with force against the brass plate.
“It’s a young mortal man and he is not happy,” Aunt Evelyn declared, her voice shrill.
Sibeal attempted to wedge herself free from a low-armed wing chair beside the window. Normally, the deep, cushy softness instilled by a Lockwood spell made the chair a comfortable resting place and belied its stiff appearance. However, as if an invisible seatbelt secured Sibeal’s wide hips, she struggled to rise. Hmpf. Larena’s not that talented. I’ve just put on a few pounds with Yule sweets.
Finally at the door, she peered through the viewing hole at a wide-lens view of Ben Peterson.
Face flushed, he shifted his weight from foot to foot.
Sibeal opened the door. “Ben, what brings you here at this hour?”
He took a step forward and pushed his way inside. Under the iridescent light cast by the foyer chandelier’s crystals, the shine of his gelled hair reflected a rainbow of hues. In marked contrast, his complexion appeared devoid of color, pasty and tired. His speech slurred beyond his usual drawl. “We hafta talk. ’Bout what you did to Larena usin’ that bleedin’ wood I got. You didn’t tell me what’d happen to her. That she’d lose magic she needed to make her livin’.”
“Seemed like an excellent way to make her need for the settlement sum even greater.” Sibeal motioned toward the parlor off the foyer. After he moved past, she yanked the curlers from her hair and deposited them in an Asian vase on a console behind the couch.
Uncle Ernan, who occupied that pottery, shot pink rollers into the air like kernels of popping corn, then recaught them.
Sibeal sucked in a breath and tried to curtail the action with a hand over the vase’s mouth.
Luckily, Ben sank onto one end of the wood-framed couch, his back to Uncle Ernan’s unique game. “My dad’s onto us. He might not only take me—and consequently you—outta this contest, but I could lose my job with the company.”
Sibeal perched on the opposite end and smoothed her billowing flannel. She wished she’d chosen a less frumpy gown, but nights in the drafty old house were chilly since she couldn’t afford the costly insulation upgrades. “He’d really do that to his own son?”
Ben gave a nod. “Yep. Without even flinchin’. Lloyd Peterson’s an iron-fisted tyrant.”
“Hmm. I wonder how he found out.”
“My brother’s been hangin’ after Larena, his way to win the deal. She whined to him ’bout bein’ hexed by us. Sure thing, to make me look bad, the S.O.B. spilled it to our dad.”
She eyeballed him. “I didn’t take you for a coward.”
He straightened, a twisted glare set on his face. “I’m not.”
“All of a sudden, you’re actin’ like you don’t want to win.” Sibeal tipped her head and looked down the length of her long nose at him. “I can cut you out. Do it myself.”
“No.” He leaned close and touched her arm. “Please. I need to win. Gotta get more money.”
The contact, even if platonic, sent shivers along Sibeal’s skin. It’d been decades since she’d experienced the touch of a handsome man. A glance into his deep brown eyes convinced her not only that the desire was one-sided, but also something about this man didn’t jive. Within the eerie slant of his narrowed eyes, the irises dominated beady pupils. Had his handling of the nemeton wood brought about this effect? Mortals were supposed to be immune to the magic. Fearful his malady might infect and cripple her magic, she pulled her arm away and inched closer to the end of the couch.
Ben’s face tightened and he looked at her imploringly, as if pained by her rejection to continue working t
ogether.
Surprised by the unplanned but desirable effect on him, she cast her gaze into the distance and used her silence to convey additional disapproval.
“Please. You don’t understand. I’m on hard times. Can’t lose my job or the extra cash from this.”
“All right, then. We’ll continue as planned. You say Larena’s takin’ Reid for an ally?”
“Of sorts.” Ben shrugged. “At least she opens up to him. Don’t know if she’s likin’ anything about the terms he’s offerin’.”
“Well, we need to up our ante. I’ve heard Larena’s mother Irene has taken a bad turn with her health.” Sibeal stroked the tip of her nose, pondering a solution. “If we could make the situation appear more difficult for a day or two, not really hurt anyone mind you, we might sway Larena. Scare her a bit. Make her more desperate for a solid future with money in her pocket.”
He quirked a brow.
Encouraged, Sibeal’s mind raced and plans slipped off her tongue. “Let me work on craftin’ a spell I can apply to something that seems harmless. I’ll need you to deliver it in some way, since neither Irene nor Betty, her care-aide, know you’re associated with me. You haven’t spoken to either of them, have you?”
“Nope.” He cast her a sidelong glance. “You sure no one’ll be hurt?”
“No, no. Irene will just appear that way for a few days. You’ll make your mall offer at the same time you apply the spell. Then check back and, under the perceived stress, Larena should be more than willin’ to sign.”
“Sounds fair ’nough.”
“Very well.” Sibeal rose, eager to begin work on the spell. Given the complexity and constraints, it might require some thought and time. When Ben didn’t take the cue to leave, she faced the door.
He folded his arms across his chest. “Whatda ya want me to do?”
She bristled. “I want you to leave so I can get to work. Then come by near dawn to pick up the potion I’ll have ready.”
“Oh. Sure.” He shook his head, as if trying to comprehend her meaning, then stood. He wavered for a few steps before reaching the door.
“Are you all right? Do you need some coffee?” Sibeal asked.
“Nope. I’m fine. It’s still early.”
“It’s late, not early.”
“Man’s gotta make a livin’.” He chuckled. “You come through with that spell, an’ I’ll share some of my extra deals with you.”
“Excellent.” While most witches liked working late, she’d never been that sort. However, for the right price, she could shift her schedule. She opened the door. “I’ll have the spell ready at sunrise. Can you pick it up then?”
“Will do.”
He drove away safely, which almost surprised her, given the odd way he acted. Maybe he was just tired. He certainly worked long hours and more than one job. Still, what toll might the Otherworld powers at the nemeton have exacted for those limbs he hacked away?
***
Dead tired after another late night, Ben trudged into his small ranch house at ten Monday morning. No time for sleep in his own bed, he aimed for a bite to eat, a shower, and change of clothes. The house was quiet as he’d hoped. Kids in school and Melissa at work. Even with the mess of breakfast dishes and school papers littering the kitchen, the place looked like a palace compared to where he’d been that evening.
He rooted in the fridge for a glass of milk and wolfed down a banana. Ravenous, he inhaled a chocolate chip cookie and, with another in hand, went to the master bedroom.
He dug in the bureau for underwear, and Melissa rounded the corner from the adjoining bathroom. She planted her feet and eyed him with that discriminating look of hers he used to find cute and endearing. “Do you think you can just drop in here anytime like a guest after not letting me know where you spent the night?”
With clean clothes in hand, he returned a matching glare. “Guests don’t pay all the bills. By the way, why aren’t you at work?”
“Is that all that’s important to you, making money?” The cords of her neck tightened as she ran a hand through her long, brunette curls.
“Seems like the pot’s callin’ the kettle black.” He squinted.
She looked down, then glanced his way, her voice softened. “That was before the kids. Things are different now. I’m different.”
“Even if you don’t want fancy stuff like before, the girls need things. You know I’m workin’ extra jobs.”
“So you say, but what is the second job?” She walked past and positioned herself between him and the outside door. “Look at you. Your shirt’s stained and wrinkled like you’ve slept in it. Where have you been? I’m your wife. You owe me answers.”
“Had a snag with someone unhappy ’bout my terms of sale. Not a problem.” They’d had this conversation a dozen times in the past month and, with tension strung this tight between them, it wouldn’t end today. He gave up on a shower and peeled off his outer and undershirts, quickly wriggling into a fresh t-shirt.
She touched a shaking hand to the peachy-smooth skin of her forehead. Tears wet her long, dark lashes. He was lucky; she was still a beauty after having two kids.
She deserved better, and he reached a hand to comfort her. “Things will change soon. I promise. I’m about to score the big deal that’ll let me turn down all the small shit. I’ll be able to be home with you and the girls.”
“Yeah, when? You keep saying that. When, Ben?” Tears streamed down her reddening cheeks.
“I mean it this time. It’ll be over soon. I swear.”
Her chocolate eyes, made up with dark liner the way he loved, pierced his soul. She raised her voice, stabbing words at him. “Stop swearing and do it. I’m tired of your promises. They’re empty.” She turned away and broke into choking sobs.
“They’re not. I promise you it’ll…” He caught himself doing exactly what she accused him of, but it was the truth this time. The mall project would net them enough to pay down the credit cards and keep him in a steadier flow of cash. If not, the job he was helping Sarah and John with would work as well. All he had to do was tell them he wanted to be fully in on it, a partner. My deal with them should go smoothly, if Reid doesn’t screw things up after finding me with them at the office so late at night.
“Tell me what you’re doing? I deserve to know.” She met his gaze. “Are you doing something illegal? Like gambling?”
He laughed. “Heck, no. I’m in a contest against Reid to persuade a stubborn lady to sell her land that Dad wants to put a mall on. I’m about to close on it and earn the big stipend. We can pay down our credit cards like we’ve wanted.” Ben moved to the closet and selected a shirt.
“You’re competing against Reid?” Her lovely eyes conveying such condescension seemed like sharp nails scraping his face.
“Yeah, so? He won’t win.”
“How do you know? He’s good.”
He smirked. “You think I can’t beat him?”
Hands on her hips, she huffed, “I didn’t say that. I meant it’s not a sure fire—”
“You think he’s better than me.” Heat spread up his neck and caused him to fumble with the collar’s buttons. “Maybe you should’ve married him.” Ben tucked the clean shirt into yesterday’s wrinkled pants and shot out of the room.
“Ben, wait,” she called after him. “What’s happening to you? And to us?”
Ben stormed outside, gunned his BMW SUV, then tore away from the quiet suburban house they’d once been so excited to purchase. He, too, wondered what had happened to them and to him. So much had changed. He couldn’t handle those thoughts and rooted in his glove box for his usual escape.
Minutes later, he walked up to the drugstore. With no morning meetings scheduled, he had time to carry out Sibeal’s weird plan. It was weird enough to succeed. Something needed to work soon, or he’d lose everything. Recent stress had marred Melissa’s pretty face with lines crinkling her eyes. It wouldn’t be long before the stress would cut into her heart, too.
Armed with a bottle of the witch’s potion and his proposal of trade-offs for Larena, all he needed was a get-well card for her mother—what Sibeal called a conduit for her spell. He had to apply the liquid and be sure Irene handled the card. Seemed simple enough.
He sauntered to the greeting card aisle. The colorful images blurred in front of his eyes. He zeroed in on one and picked it up. Too much verse for him and definitely too much for a sick old lady. Sibeal advised him to pick out a plain one with nice pictures. He raked a hand down the vertical display.
“The one with pink roses would be a wise choice.”
Ben thought he’d been alone. His head swerved over his left shoulder and beside him stood a beautiful woman. No, more than beautiful—hot. Tall with black hair that somehow glistened blue and green like a raven’s wing, her curves filled out a clingy black dress slashed up one long, shapely thigh. He gulped, wiped his palm down his pants, and offered his hand to the woman. “Name’s Ben—”
“Peterson. Yes, I know.” She leaned over and selected the card, her long dagger-like, black nails flipped it open. A silver star gleamed across the large black stone in her ring. “Perfectly simple to soothe a simple mind. Wasn’t that what you needed?”
He floated on her voice, husky and dangerous, like on some kind of trip.
“How…how’d you know that?” he asked, unable to look away from her porcelain complexion and angular face. Peeking from behind a waterfall of the sleek hair, a single scar slashed diagonally across one cheek. It tempted him, drew him in.
She laughed with a sound that reminded him of clinking glass on the verge of shattering into razor-like shards.
Tempted by the promise of pleasure and pain, he swayed closer. The languid scent of her vanilla and patchouli perfume made his head whirl. “Who are you?”
“A paramnesia, a distortion of remembered fact and fantasy.” Again the sweet, sharp laughter assaulted him, challenging his vision. “You need to go now while Larena’s away.”
Ben’s consciousness wavered. When command of his senses returned, he found himself sitting in his SUV at the side lawn outside Lockwoods’ farmhouse. How the heck did I get here? He let out a pent-up breath and collected the card from his inside coat pocket. Sibeal’s potion lay in the passenger seat where he’d left it. He uncapped the bottle and doused both card and envelope. The colorless, odorless mixture fizzed over the paper.
Witch's Mystic Woods Page 20
