Fire Burn And Cauldron Bubble, A Paranormal Romance (Jolie Wilkins)

by H. P. Mallory

  At least Rand wasn’t home to witness my pathetic display. He’d been gone all week on an errand near London, what errand he hadn’t told Christa and I had no idea, as he hadn’t talked to me since the spectacle with Trent at my house. Usual Rand form.

  “Why don’t you stay here tonight?” Christa asked, leaning over to pat my hand reassuringly. “We can have a girl’s night since the boys are out.”

  I wiped my tears on my sleeve and sat up. “You don’t have plans with John tonight?”

  She shook her head. “No, I told him tonight was for you, I thought you might need it.”

  “Well, I hope you didn’t say I was depressed—you know that will go straight back to jerk-face.”

  Christa laughed and mimicked zipping her lips closed and throwing away the key. “I didn’t say a word.”

  I nodded and traced the pattern of her matelass’e quilt with my fingertip. “How are things with you and John?”

  A Texas-sized smile lit up her face. “Good. I really like him.”

  I tried to feel happy for her, but it was tough given the fact that my love life sucked balls. I’m sure that sounds insensitive, but at least I’m honest.

  “That’s good,” I said and stood up, trying to detect the carpet through the mound of clutter littering Christa’s room. Dirty clothes formed a pyramid in the center of the floor and she had enough dishes lying around to piss off the kitchen.

  “I haven’t seen his car up here in a while,” I finished.

  She plopped down in an armchair next to the marble fireplace, not bothering to move the dress and wad of socks already sitting there. “That’s because Rand made a rule that no wolves are allowed in his house ever again.”

  “Even John?”

  She nodded. “He was upset about you and Trent, I think. He left the next morning for London, and all he told me was that he was on business and would be gone for a week. I haven’t heard from him since.”

  “Has it already been a week? Do you think we should call him?” I asked, worried that Rand was in trouble somewhere.

  Christa shook her head. “No, I think Rand is about as safe as safe can be. Who’s going to threaten a warlock?”

  I nodded, thinking she made a good point. Rand was at the top of the food chain. Then my thoughts strayed to his recent banning of all wolves from his house. “I don’t know what Rand’s issue is with me. He seems to want me when he can’t have me. God, men are so frustrating.”

  “Yes, they are,” Christa agreed and then fell silent. I felt her eyes on me, and my suspicion flared.

  “What?” I demanded, and threw myself back on the unmade bed, as if to show her that I wasn’t planning on budging until she came out with whatever was on her mind.

  “Rand had a woman over the other night,” she said, looking like she hadn’t wanted to tell me but thought she should all the same.

  Like a punctured balloon, my entire being deflated with the news. I’d thought I was over Rand but, apparently, such wasn’t the case. It was as if fate had conjured up a little vat of jealousy dust and blown it in my ear. I thought I might be sick. “A woman?”

  “She wasn’t as pretty as you are.”

  I had to laugh at Christa and her good timing. That was the first thought that had entered my head—that I hoped the woman wasn’t beautiful.

  “I think she lives in London,” Christa continued.

  “Hence his visit down there now,” I finished for her, with a sigh. It felt like a tiny part of me died, and I hated myself for my reaction. The sooner I realized there was nothing between Rand and me, and there never would be anything between us, the better.

  “Ugh, what is wrong with me?”

  Christa shook her head. “You’re a woman.”

  “God, Chris, I thought I was over him. Moving out and dating Trent—I really did think I was over him.” Tears pooled in my eyes and Christa jumped up from her chair, throwing her arms around me.

  “For all I know, he could be on business,” she said, suffocating me with the smell of her baby powder deodorant.

  I patted her hand, thanking her for her reassurance. “It isn’t any of my business anyway.”

  Christa nodded and although she allowed me my space, she still sat close by in case I needed another dose of her lovesickness remedy.

  “True, but you can’t escape the fact that you both have always wanted one another, but just never acted on it. I guess it’s for the best since these types of things always end and then where would your work relationship be?”

  “Nowhere,” I answered, thinking that our work relationship was always the reason we never acted on anything, and I was sick and tired of thinking about it. If I could have taken our “work relationship” out back and shot it full of bullets, I would’ve done so in a heartbeat.

  I tried to wade through the crap on Christa’s floor, feeling the sudden need to pace the room. I stopped next to her desk and threw myself into the desk chair, noticing some of her photos sticking out beneath a pink dress. I shifted the dress and picked up the photos. They were all eight by tens. One was a photo in black and white of Pelham Manor. With its gothic façade and gargoyles, it reminded me of Wingfield Hall, Mr. Rochester’s home from Jane Eyre.

  The next photo was Rand’s rose garden; the color of the blooms so vivid, it seemed that in just touching the picture, I could rub the redness off on my fingers. “These are beautiful, Chris.”

  She smiled. “Thanks. I showed the thumbnails to Rand and he asked me to blow them up so he could hang them around the house. I was going to frame them for him … like a surprise.”

  If I hadn’t remembered the spell Rand had put on Christa, which made her feelings for him lean more towards brotherly love than physical love, I might’ve thought she had the hots for him … again. But I knew better.

  “He would love that, I’m sure.”

  I flipped to the next photo, which was a stylized portrait of Rand in sepia tone. He was dressed in a long sleeved shirt and dark pants. Sitting on a stool, with one leg stretched out before him, he was so rigid, a light breeze could’ve blown him over. And the small smile on his lips looked like he’d been going for the Mona Lisa but never quite got there. He appeared to be completely uncomfortable. I couldn’t help my grin.

  “He wanted to frame this one?” I asked.

  She shook her head and giggled. “That’s a joke. I threw that one in because he looks so funny. Talk about the worst subject. He was more uncomfortable posing for me than you are.”

  I laughed and went to the next photo. It was of me and I was sitting cross-legged on my veranda, Plum in my lap. I was wearing blue jeans and a white t-shirt. My hair splayed against my shoulders, on one side a breeze playfully lifting it. I remembered Christa taking the photo, she’d snapped it just as I was telling her not to. I looked happy, a laugh in the process of stealing my lips.

  “What are you doing with this?” I asked, holding it up.

  Christa dropped her face just the smallest fraction as if shielding a secret. “That’s for Rand. He didn’t want me to tell you.”

  “He wanted to frame it?” I couldn’t keep the shock from my voice.

  She nodded. “So much for keeping his secret,” Christa said with an unapologetic smile. “He said it was just so … you.”

  “Wow.” I dropped the photos back on her desk. I didn’t know what to think, so I chose to think nothing at all. “Those are really good, Chris. I’m really impressed.”

  She smiled. “Thanks, I think I might start taking some photography classes … sharpen my skills a little, you know?”

  I suddenly felt like a very bad friend. I hadn’t been super supportive of her talent. Hell, I hadn’t even been around. Had I been so involved with my own life that I’d totally ignored my friend? The answer was pretty obvious. “God, Chris, I’ve been a bad friend lately. I … I’m really sorry.”

  She waved my concern away. “Jules, you’ve been so busy with stuff. I can’t even imagine how tough it is to be you
right now. Don’t feel bad. It’s just a couple of pictures.”

  “No, Chris, I shouldn’t have been so caught up in my own life. I’m really sorry.”

  She just smiled. “What do you say we break into a bottle of wine?”

  A bottle of wine—just what the doctor ordered. Numbing myself with alcohol. A motto that I tried not to live by, but what the hell, desperate times call for desperate measures.

  “Amen to that.” I checked my watch. “It’s eight o’clock, it’s late enough.”

  Christa stood up, and I trailed her downstairs into the wine cellar where we approached endless rows of bottle rear ends. Neither one of us a wine connoisseur, we just stood there in silent indecision.

  “Do you think he’s saving any of them?” Christa asked.

  I shook my head. I didn’t give a crap if he was or not. “Who cares?”

  Christa laughed. “I like your attitude, Jules.” Her hands hovered over the bottles as if she wasn’t sure which one to go with.

  “Close your eyes and pick one,” I said with a grin.

  She shut her eyes and reached out like someone playing pin the tail on the donkey and grabbed a Merlot. She opened her eyes and eyed the bottle before returning her gaze to the wall of bottles.

  “Maybe a couple more?”

  I laughed, thinking the more the merrier. “Sure, couldn’t hurt.”

  After loading ourselves with four bottles of wine—a Merlot, a Chardonnay, a Pinot Grigio, and a Syrah for good measure—we retired to Christa’s room. She turned on her CD player and some new age type music came pouring out.

  “What the hell is this?” I asked with a frown, taking a seat on her bed while she followed suit.

  “It’s my meditation music.”

  “What? Since when do you do that?”

  She raised her brows and pasted an indignant smile on her face. “John says it’s good for the soul.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh, God.”

  The meditation music wafted out of the speakers, sounding like something you’d hear in an elevator in a cheap hotel somewhere in the Midwest.

  “We forgot glasses, didn’t we?” she asked, pulling my attention from the “music.” I nodded while she leaned across her bed and pulled open a drawer, retrieving a corkscrew.

  “You keep one in your drawer?” I asked with a laugh.

  “You never know when you’re going to need one.” She popped the cork on the Merlot and swigged from the bottle, looking like the quintessential wino. Wiping her arm across her mouth, she handed the bottle to me.

  I held up the wine. “To drinking four bottles with no glasses while listening to the crappiest music I’ve ever heard.”

  Christa grabbed the Pinot with a giggle and popped the cork, holding it up to imitate my salute. “Cheers.”

  Two hours later and we were both hammered. I hadn’t realized just how much I needed a girls’ night. But after talking about Spokane and what our lives used to be like, boyfriends and breakups, I’d realized exactly how much I’d missed a little estrogen in my life.

  “You want some more?” Christa asked, her right eye drooping like an old lady’s pantyhose. It was the sign that Christa was drunk. She said it was a form of lazy eye; I just thought it was hysterical and laughed although I tried to hide it with an inconspicuous cough.

  “Count me in.” I thrust my hand out, and she rammed the bottle of Chardonnay into my palm. “Which bottle are we on?”

  “Um, three I think.” She hiccupped.

  I downed the remnants and let the bottle drop to the carpet, watching it roll across the floor until it butted into a pile of People magazines.

  “What time is it?”

  Christa never wore a watch so she grabbed her cell phone from her pocket, squinting at it with her droopy eye. “Nearly midnight.”

  “I feel sick,” I said and tried to stand up, using her shoulder to get to my feet. “I gotta go to bed.” Once I managed to stand on my own for a few seconds, I turned and started for her door, my feet like flippers.

  Christa hiccupped again. “Are you going home?”

  I shook my head and grabbed hold of the top of her chair as the room started spinning. “I’m too drunk to walk. I’ll just crash in my old bedroom.”

  Christa waved and crawled into her bed. I was jealous, not wanting to travel the five hundred feet to my bedroom. “Night.”

  “Night, Christa, and thanks. I needed this.”

  She smiled as I stumbled across the threshold. With a wave, I closed her door and headed for my old bedroom. The view of my canopy bed was a sight for drunk eyes. I kicked the door closed behind me and made my way to the windows, enjoying the warmth that rushed over me at the familiar view. A full moon bathed the lush grounds of Pelham Manor in rays of blue.

  You finally decide to come back.

  I turned at the sound of Pelham’s voice in my head and smiled at my friend. I guess it’s been a while.

  He joined me at the window, trying to see what I was looking at. The wolf went his separate way?

  I guess you were spying on Christa and me all night?

  What else have I got to do?

  I laughed and faced him, thinking how odd it was that I could see him so completely and yet he was a ghost, energy.

  Pelham, why haven’t you ever asked me to bring you back to life? I thought as I nearly tripped over my own feet.

  Pelham looked like Thinking Man as he sat above the bed, his chin in his palm. I have been like this for so long now, I cannot conceive of what the outside world must be like.

  You’re afraid? I asked and thought if I were in his shoes, I’d feel the same way … probably.

  Perhaps. The desire is just not strong. Everything I care about is within this house. He smiled but it looked sad. Now, the wolf …

  Not a subtle change of subject but I respected it all the same.

  Yes, he dumped me, so you can rub it in.

  Pelham shrugged. Why would I want to do that? I imagine you are already rubbing it in yourself. Is that why you’re inebriated?

  I laughed. What a perceptive ghost. Yeah, I guess so. It was one of the many reasons.

  Well, the wolf is a fool to have let you go. A beautiful woman like you …

  If you were alive, I’d kiss you!

  Don’t let my current state stop you, he said and I just shook my head.

  Thanks anyway.

  Pelham sighed and attempted to put his arm around me. He went through me, but I appreciated the gesture all the same. I should go to bed. I have a terrible headache, I said, stumbling back into the room and thinking I’d had way too much to drink.

  Can I watch you undress?

  I rolled my eyes. You will anyway.

  He nodded with a wink. I searched through the drawers, hoping I’d left something to sleep in. I’d already learned that being drunk didn’t equate to magic working properly, so there would be no creating my own nightshirt tonight. And the headache? That would have to stay too.

  Not finding anything and not wanting to wake Christa, I decided to head into Rand’s room and look for a t-shirt. I hoped he wouldn’t mind and then scrubbed the thought, he wasn’t here anyway so what did it matter?

  I opened the door and breathed deeply. Rand’s scent lured me inside, heating my body with that particular spicy male aroma. It was a masculine room, with dark cherry wood paneling, oversized and deep brown furniture, and an enormous bookshelf. I’d never been in Rand’s room before and being here now, by myself, almost made me giddy with the inclination to snoop.

  A bottle of wine sat on the side table next to the largest bed I’d ever seen. Cal King Schmal King. This thing had to have been custom ordered. Images of him in bed and drinking wine with the woman in London coursed through my head, and I braced myself against the mantle, thinking I might pass out. When the dizziness subsided, I decided to help myself to the bottle and took a generous swig. Then I turned to the task of finding something I could wear to bed.

  Rand’s
closet was full of clothes, all organized according to color. Figured he’d be the OCD type. I found a white t-shirt and couldn’t help bringing it to my nose as I inhaled the scent so completely Rand—a scent of laundry detergent with notes of his cologne. God, I made myself want to vomit.

  I thought you were coming back?

  I looked up and found Pelham on Rand’s bed, facing me. Of course, he wasn’t going to miss the chance to see me in the buff. I didn’t have anything to wear to bed, so I wanted to borrow a shirt from Rand.

  Ah, I see, well go ahead, put it on.

  I pulled off my shirt, draping it over the side of one of Rand’s plush bedroom chairs. Pelham’s eyes were glued to my every move and in my drunkenness, it actually made me feel good, attractive. I slid off my pants, laid them atop my blouse, then undid my bra, and watched as a smile lit the corners of his mouth.

  Very nice.

  Then I pulled Rand’s shirt over my head and Pelham frowned. What about the knickers?

  Those aren’t coming off. Now go away and leave me alone.

  With his lips pulled taut, he faded away and I shut the door, so he’d know I didn’t welcome his return. I wanted some time to myself to snoop around Rand’s room and to finish the rest of the wine.

  There were pictures of Rand with various people all over his room and finding one, I picked it up, inspecting it. This one was Rand in what looked like the Alps—snowy and steep mountains. Rand was dressed in blue snow gear, his ski mask perched atop his head, throwing his hair in disarray. He smiled broadly, his dimples in attendance and accounted for. A young man stood next to him, but I had no interest in him.

  I took the photo with me to his gigantic bed and climbed in the middle as I grabbed the bottle of wine and downed a few swallows. I sank into the bed, the mattress as warm and welcoming as a hug. It felt as if I were in a cloud of feathers—feather mattress, feather duvet with feather pillows. Thank God I wasn’t allergic to ducks.

  I downed the remnants of the wine and put the empty bottle on his bed stand as my attention returned to the photo in my hand. Rand was the best-looking man I’d ever seen. I leaned against the headboard and tucked the picture up against me, imagining how nice it would be to be in bed with Rand this very moment.