Bad Impression : A Sadie Salt Novel (Sadie Salt Series Book 2)

by Ware Wilkins

  Bad Impression

  Ware Wilkins

  Copyright © 2017 by Now and Wren Publishing

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is completely coincidental.

  cover by Yocla Designs

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  CHAPTER ONE

  You can’t murder a pregnant woman. Well, I suppose you can, but you really shouldn’t, especially if said pregnant woman is also your best friend and roommate. And maybe you feel a bit guilty because she got knocked up by a fae hunter jacked up on magic bone dust while he was busy hunting you. So no, I won’t be murdering Ingrid, but damned if I’m not fantasizing about it.

  “These are the wrong kind of pickles.” Ingrid pouts, looking at the large jar I just drove out in cold temperatures to get her. “Everyone knows the pickles in the deli case are far superior to the pickles on the shelf.”

  “People also know that the pickles in the deli case are two more dollars a jar than the pickles on the shelf.” And people know to be grateful when their overworked and emotionally taxed roommate is nice enough to go to the store to buy said pickles. That part I don’t say because I’m not stupid. Ingrid’s hormones have been off the charts and I didn’t know anything about pregnancy before this, but I’m learning more than I ever wanted to know. The first lesson came fast: Don’t be snarky to the lady growing a baby. Just don’t. It isn’t worth it and you will pay for it long after.

  Of course, Ingrid’s nose crinkles at my mention of money. In less than a second, tears are spilling down her face and if I owned a time machine, I’d go back to just before I said that. Money is a sensitive issue right now. “Ah, damn, Ingie, I’m sorry.”

  Her sniffles skipped straight to hiccupping sobs. “Y-y-you know I can’t dance with this b-b-baby!” She’d tried to, bless her. She’d driven to South Carolina, just over an hour each night, to shimmy, shake, and strip. But the problem with Ingrid’s lean, muscular, dancer’s frame was that her bump showed early and apparently the clientele at her job weren’t into that. According to her boss, it ruined the illusion that she was dancing “just for them.” Her job isn’t the kind that has things like maternity leave or disability. You either show up and shake your clam or you don’t have a job.

  I sink into the couch beside her, wrapping an arm around her narrow, heaving shoulders. She smells nice, like vanilla shampoo, and it helps calm my irritation. Vanilla smells like family and that’s exactly what Ingrid and her spawn are: my family. After all, my own parents are dead. Well, maybe not my mom, but there’s too much on my plate to even consider that possibility right now. Right now I’m in a pickle with a preggo. Ha! A pickle! Get it?

  ...Nevermind.

  “I’m sorry I said it. I know it isn’t your fault. It’s just that I was barely making enough money for my rent before, and now I’m taking care of both of us.”

  “That’s not true,” she argues, voice laced with petulance. “I’ve been using my savings.”

  “Okay,” I concede. “You’ve been paying for your rent. But food has been on me, so you have money for insurance and doctor’s appointments. You know, whenever you decide to actually go to the doctor.”

  She stiffens under my arm. Like money, this is a delicate subject. “What would I even say to a doctor?”

  “Most doctors are familiar with single moms, Ingrid.” I say it, even though I know that’s not what she’s referring to. If Ingrid had a problem with shame, she’d never have been comfortable enough to live in the town she grew up in and work as a stripper, even if she works a state away.

  She gives me a wry smile. “I’m more concerned with what might be a demon baby in my belly.”

  “Psh, there’s no demons, silly.”

  We giggle, but it’s halfhearted. “Okay, maybe not a demon. But my spidey senses are tingling with this baby. Something is up with it. I don’t think I can risk going to a normal doctor.”

  I frown and her hand drops absentmindedly to her belly. Ingrid’s spidey senses are notoriously wrong… until they’re spot on. With recent events, I’ve discovered that I can’t afford to disregard all of them. After all, one of her visions helped save my life. “Have you given any more thought--”

  She yanks out of my comforting arm, turning to look at me in horror. “We’ve talked about this! Absolutely not. I’m keeping it, even if it is a demon baby. There’s got to be more to nurture than nature and I plan on nurturing the shit out of this kid.”

  Sighing, I place a hand over hers, still nestled protectively on her tiny, cute bump. “I know, I know. I meant about giving birth. Making sure you’re okay, as well as the baby. I’m a dental assistant, I can’t help at all with--” I gesture to her bump, “--this.”

  Ingrid snuggles back into me. “I’m sorry. You’re just trying to help.”

  Tucking her in is funny, as I’m short and slim and Ingrid’s tall, with curves and an awkward new centerpiece we’re both adjusting to, but I manage to get her head nestled into my shoulder. My dark brown hair spills down, mixing with her blonde hair. We make quite the pair. “I am trying to help. And I’m going to be here for you forever, Ingrid.”

  She sniffles, still recovering from her previous meltdown. “Yeah, right. One day Alec is going to loosen the leash on Abe and your new, sexy wolfman is going to steal you from me.”

  My gut twists, despite her lighthearted attempt at a joke. It’s been three months since Abe was whisked away by the pack to heal and adapt to his new life as a werewolf. There’s been radio silence the entire time. Alec and Henry dodge my calls and questions and if I drive too close to the pack’s home, a large building that uses the guise of a home for stray teenagers and rehab center for addicts, I’m turned away quickly by pack members.

  The last time I saw Abe, he was little more than ribbons of bloody flesh, chewed to near-death by Henry in an attempt to pass on the lycanthropy that would save his life. A life almost lost because of me. The only thing that’s kept me from dissolving into a hopeless puddle is the tenuous, unspoken treaty I have with the alpha. He knows I’m a bone witch and, if I was able to get the drop on him, I have the power to wipe out the entire pack. Yet I’m still alive. So I have to trust that, when Abe is able to see me, Alec will let me know.

  “I don’t think that’s happening any time soon. Possibly at all.”

  “But he promised you a kiss! I need to live vicariously through you!”

  “Men paid you exorbitant amounts of money to see your naked form. I haven’t been laid in a painfully long time. I mean really, really painful. Like, I’m not sure if everything still works like it should down there. So when Abe breaks up with me for ruining his life, there’s not a lot you’ll want to vicariously feel.”

  She snuggles in closer, curling awkwardly against me. We’ve always been close, but since getting knocked up, Ingrid’s needed a lot more affection. I won’t lie, it’s been nice for me too. Reassurin
g that, no matter how messy and complicated life gets, I’ll always have her. Most days it almost feels like enough. “First, I don’t know if you can say that you and Abe are dating, though it’s obvious that would be the outcome had he not been werewolfed. But, if not Abe, why don’t you let Benji screw your brains out? He’s had how many centuries of practice? I bet he’s the lay of several lifetimes,” Ingrid jokes into my shoulder.

  A shiver runs down my spine, despite the warmth from my snuggles with my best friend. There are still times, usually when I’m alone, where I replay when Benji came on to me. I’d felt so ignorant in his presence, assuming he was gay. His announcement that he was a bisexual had been a major upset in my status quo. Moreover, I still struggle with believing he’s truly into me. Not because I’m trying to be humble or pathetically down on myself, but just because, well, I’m trouble. My entire friendship with him was based on me fixing his teeth and him fixing a lot of my messes.

  That kiss, though…

  Let’s say it has piqued my interest. My heart still yearns for Abe, the love of my life, the only man I’ve ever wanted. I’ve not considered another possibility for a long time. That’s what Benji had asked me to do. To consider. And Ingrid’s right: I’ve considered the sexpertise. In shamefully explicit detail.

  Throwing my head against the back of the couch, I groan. “How about we skip your dead, magic-junkie lover and my supernatural paramour potentials and just get a shit ton of cats.”

  “I hope you’re kidding and haven’t already started. I counted three different strays today. Animal control came twice! It’s a little creepy, really, and I think I might be allergic.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since I don’t know? I’ve never been around cats and now I can’t look out a window without seeing one.”

  Biting my lip, I’m glad she’s tucked into my shoulder where she can’t see the guilt on my face. I mean, that’s more cats than usual, but I can only assume they’re hanging out because Benji is no longer drinking them. My shock and disgust must have given him a change of heart, or this is like… the most bizarre attempt at wooing ever. I think I love you, please have all these feral felines.

  I’m sure there are people that would work on. Not me, though. For now, I just want to take a shower and binge watch TV with Ingrid. The stress of our situation is growing and it isn’t helping that I haven’t been working my late-night second job. Since paying off the tooth fairy and knowing that my secret bone-witchcraft is not a secret anymore, it seemed like a good idea to back off of working on supernatural teeth.

  Uncle Oliver had disagreed, of course, right before he left. “It’s important to keep up appearances.” But he’s gone, and what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him. I needed the space. For one, I still struggle with the idea of anyone getting into the magical dental chair that Nash, a former patient, was murdered in.

  Second, the thought of teeth and the juicy, magical life essence they contain immediately ramps up my need to absorb their power and work the bone magic. It’s a deep lust. That’s the best and only way I can describe it. Three months of no casting later and I still crave it enough that it hurts. Ingrid and Benji have been looking out for me, but in the end, I need to look out for myself, and that means putting some serious distance between me and teeth.

  “I’m hungry,” Ingrid reminds me, and she’s still staring at the unacceptable pickles. “I’m sorry that I’m being so picky.”

  “I’m really sorry money's so tight,” I say, and I mean it. It’s never been easy for me, but the strain of supporting another person makes me appreciate the people who have families they take care of tenfold. It’s hard and there’s a lot of pressure. “I’m going to take a shower, and then maybe we can pop a frozen pizza in the oven.”

  “Nope.”

  “What do you mean, ‘nope’?”

  She lifts off me, grunting as she sits up. “I mean the thought of pizza makes my stomach turn.”

  “Since when?”

  She mock-snarls at me. “Since demon baby, okay?”

  My brow furrows as I try and think of what we have to eat for dinner. I’d gone to the store for pickles, but I probably should have stocked our pantry. Currently it is down to frozen pizzas and cereal. Usually that was fine for both of us. We aren’t big cooks. “Well, what do you want?”

  She bats her long eyelashes at me, pink tinging her cheeks, and I brace myself.

  “Pickles. From the deli section.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  The lights of the grocery store hum and there’s gentle pop playing softly. The wheels of my cart squeak in time with the rhythm. I’m moving at a slow pace because, while I know Ingrid is hungry, I also just need space to think.

  In my purse is yet another application to dental school that Dr. Winston filled out for me. The packet includes scholarship applications. All I have to do is sign them and send them in. I’m not going to. At this point, there’s a chunk of me that is sure I never will.

  It isn’t that I’m devoted to Grimloch. My sleepy town is okay, but isn’t going to win any polls for “best place to live” or anything. We’ve got the usual antique store and fudge and treat shops for tourists. We’ve also got an abandoned coal mine and a bunch of people who live in poverty in the surrounding mountains, waiting for jobs that won’t come back. But the people are friendly and if you don’t run right out of high school, you end up living your life with people you’ve known since childhood.

  My heart squeezes as I think about Abe for the hundredth time that day. My high school sweetheart, only he had no clue I was sweet on him until we were about to die and I did the whole “confess before death” thing. Since we lived and he returned my feelings, it should be a good thing.

  Three months, though, and I still don’t know how he’s doing. Maybe I should drive by again. Ask to see Abe directly. There are so many questions I have, like if he’s okay and whether he still has a job. What pack life is like, and whether he thinks Alec will ever like me. You know the answer to the last one. A big, fat, NOPE.

  As I round a corner, I bump carts with someone turning at the same time. When I right my cart and see who it is, my eyes narrow. “Henry,” I say, and his name is an accusation.

  “Oh. Hi, Sadie.” He’s looking at his feet and into his cart and basically everywhere but my direction. Stupid betas. If it was Alec, he’d look me in the eye even if he knew I was angry at him.

  “Where the hell is Abe? Why have y’all been dodging my calls? How is he?” All the questions I’ve had, that are a constant litany when I think of Abe, come spilling out in the middle of a small grocery store, under buzzing yellow lighting. Henry’s gaze darts around, worried that someone might hear me.

  “This isn’t a great time to talk,” he warns, starting to swerve his cart around mine. I wrench mine in front of his, blocking the way, and growl. I’m no werewolf, but I’m motivated by forces larger than common sense. Forces like love and worry.

  “Make it a great time to talk,” I warn. His lip curls and I hear his responding growl. It’s lower and far more animalistic than mine. A warning. Henry may be a beta, but he’s still a wolf.

  His hands grip the handle of his push cart hard enough that I hear the protest of metal. “Sadie, I’m under orders not to talk to you.”

  “Alec is an asshole, Henry. You’re his sire, bend the rules!”

  Henry clenches his jaw, the muscles along his temples and cheeks so taut they look as if they might snap. His eyes roll like a spooked horse and yeah, okay, I’m feeling bad. This is obviously an order from the alpha, not just from Alec. There’s pack magic there, and I doubt Henry can break it.

  “I’m sorry, Henry,” I sigh. Frustration mounts at Alec, at this stupid situation, and it stems from the guilt I still harbor, knowing that at the root of it all, I’m at fault for Abe’s condition. “You don’t need to tell me anything. You’d tell me if… if Abe was dead, right?”

  Perhaps we’ve found a small loophole in the order, since
my question is phrased as a hypothetical. Hypothetically speaking, if Abe was dead, would Henry tell me? His smile says I’ve danced around Alec’s orders and he approves. Henry’s such a good guy. I wish he were alpha. “I’d tell you if he was dead,” Henry agrees. “I’d also tell you if he was…” His nose scrunches as he searches for a phrase that will maneuver around the binding magic of Alec’s gag order. “If he wasn’t going to be okay.”

  “Does that mean he’s not okay now?”

  His eyes narrow, and I get it. He really is trying to help me out here. “Okay,” I say. “If he wasn’t going to be okay and you’d tell me, would you hypothetically give me a clue as to when I’d be able to see him? Talk to him?”

  “I just don’t know, Sadie.” I don’t know if he’s answering the hypothetical or he’s just telling me that we’re not as clever as we think. Probably both. It’s clear from the sag in his shoulders and the exhaustion in his tone that he is telling the truth.

  “Well, thanks. And tell Alec I think he’s a giant jerk who needs to remove the stick from his ass and tell me what’s going on.”

  He smiles. “I’ll search for a more diplomatic phrasing, but I’ll pass along your message.”

  Shifting my cart, I nod to let him know he can pass. As he does, he stops once more. “Be careful, Sadie. There are a lot of strangers in town. More than usual. The tourist season is over and we should be empty, so we think there are hunters crawling around. Don’t be too vocal and stay out of trouble, okay?”

  At that moment, another cart rounds an aisle corner two aisles down. I don’t recognize the woman pushing it and Henry’s eyes narrow. She’s not dressed like someone from Grimloch. We tend to keep it pretty casual: jeans, t-shirts, field jackets, and puffy coats. This woman has on fancy knee-high boots and a pea coat that looks expensive. She’s probably just a late-season tourist, spending the last of the holiday time with family, but I can’t help but notice the grace she has when moving and the lean, agile look of her frame. Her mouth is shining with stop sign red lipstick.